The Crying Game
by silverglitters
Summary: 'What if' story. "What if Tezuka Kunimitsu had a twin?" As twin brothers, Kunimitsu and Kunihiro knew that they would share many things - their family, their home, even their name. But there were two things in the world they absolutely refuse to share. One was tennis. And the other was Fuji's love.
1. (Hiro) A Bittersweet Homecoming

**AN**:Wow, this actually took more courage than I expected. Well, I'm not going to delay you much, so please do enjoy my first story here :)

**The Crying Game**

* * *

**I**

**A Bittersweet Homecoming**

(Hiro)

* * *

The eleventh hour of the seventh of October fourteen years ago had been the most crucial hours of his life. He didn't know it then, because nobody did; everyone was too busy trying to keep his mother calm and awake enough to deliver. His father had been pacing in the halls, glancing at the closed doors every once in a while, and his grandfather had been sitting calmly, though the strain in his voice when he barked for his son to calm down had betrayed his own inner tension.

His mother had been frantic, sweating and panting heavily, screaming at the nurses to get on with it already. She had felt it coming all day, the way mothers always felt things coming, and even though she had never been a mother before, she _knew_; and if her husband had listened, then maybe she wouldn't have felt it coming in the theater he insisted on bringing her to.

His father had driven his mother to the hospital like a maniac, and they'd been chased around the city by a police cab, and though it had been hell explaining everything afterwards, at least the police sirens kept the traffic away.

And Tezuka Kuniharu, his esteemed, law-abiding, stick-up-the-ass father, had almost gone to jail.

That had been the story for years, and once upon a time, it had been funny.

It still was, he supposed, if he didn't think about the events that happened next. Because twenty-seven minutes into the eleventh hour of the seventh of October, his mother, Tezuka Ayana, gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Not too chubby, and not terribly noisy either, the boy had been passed to the nurse and cleaned up where his mother could see, and Ayana had smiled and gave a small sigh of relief and named the boy Kunimitsu.

Five minutes later, out came another healthy baby boy. Not too chubby, but horribly noisy, the boy had been passed to the same nurse and cleaned up where his mother could see, and Ayana gave yet another fond smile, naming the boy Kunihiro just before her eyes fluttered shut and she succumbed to her exhaustion.

The younger son, the second son.

The _second_ son.

_Second_.

Those five minutes turned out to be the most crucial, the most critical part of his life, for they defined just how it would be for him for the rest of his life.

And he hadn't been really, truly alive for them.

It was horrible, it was unfair, it was unjust.

And it was all precious, older Kunimitsu's fault.

* * *

"_...and make sure you drag your sorry ass back here every once in a while! Damn it, Hiro, we're still just writing this letter and we miss you already. _

_You make it so very easy to miss you, you asshole._

_Call. Email. PM. Visit._

_Or we'll kidnap you and keep you hostage. That means no free food."_

Tezuka Kunihiro laughed to himself, ignoring the evil looks the flight stewardess was shooting in his direction. She'd been over by his seat plenty of times during the flight already, and before the _Fasten Seatbelt_ sign blinked on, he'd thought maybe he could have liked her. She had been a great flirt, and an even bigger tease, but that was before she decided she would have to take her job seriously and glare at him because he refused to put on his seatbelt.

Hiro didn't see the use. It wasn't as if he was going to fly off of the plane if he didn't fasten his seatbelt anyway.

He turned back to his letter. It had been the collective effort of all his friends, as was obvious from the differing handwritings and the many different signatures. Or rather, the many different pseudo-signatures. They didn't really sign it so much as stick pictures or drew on it, and as a result, there was a rather huge pink kiss mark covering about half of the bottom part of the page.

If it had been by choice, Hiro would have still been there, and he would have stayed there for a very long time.

He liked it there.

There, there was only him. There, he was not second to Kunimitsu in anything; Kunimitsu wasn't even known to exist there. He could stop having to play tennis without people talking about how suprising it was, when tennis had been shared by him and Kunimitsu, he could slack off without being compared to Kunimitsu, he could have fun and party without people going, _"His brother isn't anything irresponsible like that."_

There he would have happily stayed for the rest of his life.

That had always been the plan.

But sometimes, plans, even the most carefully-laid ones, get ruined.

He stowed the letter away just as the plane touched down, and he gave the flight stewardess, who was still glaring, one last playful wink before he filed away with all the other passengers of the flight.

The airport was as crowded as he last remembered, when he left about two years ago. He'd grown much since then, having gone through a growth spurt on his second year. It wasn't any different, now that he looked around, but then again, he hadn't been making any considerable effort to commit anything to memory.

Around him, many people mingled. A lot more were waiting by the gate, holding up name placards or _Welcome home!_ posters, and there was more than one family blocking the entrance because they were having their tearful, heartfelt reunions.

No one was there to fetch him. It wasn't because they were too busy, or that they didn't want to. If he had bothered to call, his mother would have had a full welcoming party waiting for him. She hadn't made a secret of her desire that he go home; she'd never wanted him to leave in the first place, and if it was up to her, he would have stayed and he never would have even considered leaving.

But it wasn't up to her.

It wasn't her fault, either, because that was just the way things were. She was a wonderful mother, but even so, there were problems she couldn't fix.

Not if she wasn't aware of them in the first place.

He hailed a cab and gave his old address. The name felt foreign to his tongue now. It's been almost three years. He looked out the passing landscape, all tall building obscuring the summer sky. Japan had not really changed that much, and the little that it did, he wasn't able to notice.

He'd been much too eager to leave.

He didn't want to be in the same household as Kunimitsu. He didn't even want to be in the same country as him, so when the exchange student program was offered, he immediately jumped on the chance to get away. He filled out all the requirements by himself, spent a grueling four hours trying to convince his parents and his grandfather that it was a good idea, and the next many hours after that trying to console his devastated mother.

And then he left and he didn't look back.

Once he stepped into foreign soil, he worked on completely severing all but the few important ties to his homeland. He learned the language, immersed himself in the culture, made friends. He even sheared off half his name, cutting it down to Hiro, because he shared the first part with three other people.

And one of them was a person he particularly hated.

His only contact with before were the mandatory emails with his mother, and even though he did miss her very much, as much as he missed his father and grandfather, those emails were short and to the point.

None of them ever asked about how his own brother was doing.

Somehow, his mother seemed to magically find a way to insert them in anyway. It was those notes that he never read, and his mother, at least, had enough tact to know to put them at the last part so Hiro always knew to skip those parts.

He was dropped off at a familiar gate, bearing the familiar kanji, announcing it to be the _Tezuka_ household. He smiled despite himself, the nostalgia kicking in before he could help it. It had been long, and even though he worked hard not to, he missed it.

He didn't miss Kunimitsu, but he missed _this_.

And it was just another thing that Kunimitsu had taken away from him.

He half-dragged, half-carried his luggage to the front door, and rang the doorbell, stomping on the urge to shift awkwardly on the front door of his own home.

It took only a few minutes before the door finally opened, revealing a smiling, but puzzled Tezuka Ayana in a frilly white apron, wiping her hands on a small hand towel.

"Kunimitsu," she was saying. "I thought you said you wouldn't be home for dinner..." And trailed off when she took in the luggage, and the person standing in front of her.

"Kunihiro..." she whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth, tears coming to her eyes.

And then she jumped into his arms – he was taller than her now – and started bawling.

"You're back."

* * *

Hiro looked up the ceiling of his room. It, too, had not changed any since the last time he saw it. There were still the glow-in-the-dark stars that he'd stuck there himself, when he had been six and rebellious. The biggest pseudo-constellation was that of a tennis ball, and it dominated the center of his ceiling. There were still the tennis posters; he'd torn them, he remembered, but somehow, his mother always finds a way to buy the same poster and stick them in his room so they'd be waiting for him when he got back from school.

There was his first racket, the white-framed one, the one that was the twin of Kunimitsu's own, just like he was the twin of his brother. He'd used it all of one tournament, and never used it ever again.

Hiro closed his eyes and wished for sleep. He was tired. He'd spent all of dinner answering questions from his mother, father and grandfather, and smiling and listening to all the stories his mother had neglected to write to him about. Then, there was tea and a talk with his grandfather, and then an awkward welcome home hug from his father, before he finally settled in his room, lying down, staring at his star-filled ceiling.

Yes, he was staying for good. No, there had been no problem, he just wanted to get home. No, he didn't want to wait up for Kunimitsu, who, according to his parents, was out late practicing again.

He, most expressively, _did not_ want to wait for Kunimitsu.

He didn't want to see him, or hear of him, and he wanted to avoid him as much as possible.

He could do that, right?

A knock on the door cut off his thoughts, and he rolled over to the side, watching the soft fluttering of his curtains. "Door's open, Mother."

And the door did open, except it didn't take with it his mother's gushing clinginess. For a very long moment, there was only silence, long and awkward, and very familiar.

"I was talking to _Mother_," Hiro bit out, already angry, even though he hadn't even started talking yet. Why the _fuck_ was he even here? Couldn't he leave Hiro well enough alone? Why did he not get the fact that no, Hiro did not want to talk to him, or hear him or see him, or even be related to him?

Had his leaving not made it obvious enough?

There was silence again, and for a while, it was only breathing and the rustling of cloth as his brother shifted weight from one foot to another.

Finally, Kunimitsu said, "She said you were home."

Hiro resisted the urge to throw him out of the room. "Obviously." He could feel his brother's gaze on him. It was intense and familiar, and it ignited the fire of his hatred even more. Hiro found himself actually trembling in his bed, and holding back to urge to snap, to fight, was taking up all of his effort.

"Are you staying for good?"

If Hiro had the choice, no. He was the one who wanted to leave, remember, Kunimitsu? If things had gone the way he wanted, he would never have come back. Not here, not with _him_.

Hiro turned rolled over until he was facing his brother. Kunimitsu had changed, just as much as he had changed. The same hair, the same eyes, maybe even the same height, and excepting the glasses that Kunimitsu had but he didn't, they could very well have been the same person.

And he hated that.

He returned his borther's gaze with a glare. "Why do you care?"

His brother gazed steadily back, unperturbed by his outburst, as he was with everything else. No matter what Hiro did, or said, there was only ever one single expression on Kunimitsu's face, and it never changed, not even so much as a twitch.

"You're my brother," Kunimitsu declared, still with the fierce, intense gaze. He didn't even blink. Even now, it was all about him. Hiro had just gotten back home, but it was all about Kunimitsu.

Because _he_ was _Kunimitsu's_ brother.

Not the other way around. It never could be the other way around.

Hiro suddenly knew that if he stayed, the conflict he'd worked so hard to semi-hide from his mother would finally become painfully obvious.

"That never mattered before," he said, getting up, and working to fix his shirt.

"It does."

"Liar."

Kunimitsu observed him silently, making no other move but to follow Hiro's every action with his eyes. "I don't lie," he replied quietly, and Hiro resisted the urge to scoff.

Of course he did, he was a master at it. Kunimitsu lied everyday, because no one could be that perfect.

No one could ruin someone else's life that much and not even _notice_.

"Get out of my way," Hiro stood before his brother, eyes to eye. They _were_ of the same height, and just about the same bearing, but he stared Kunimitsu down until his brother gave in and moved aside his doorway.

It was only when he was at the head of the stairs that Kunimitsu spoke again. "Where are you going?"

Hiro's blood prickled. _Why do you need to know, bastard?_ "Out," he snapped, turning around and scowling. "Do I need your permission?"

Kunimitsu did not flinch, did not change expression, just watch him for a very long time. Hiro stared defiantly right back.

"I'm your-"

"Look," Hiro said, cutting him off, not wanting to hear anything from him again, not tonight. He was tired, he was cranky, and he hated him. "You stay away from my business, and I'll stay away from yours."

No reaction once again. It was as if Kunimitsu didn't care. Why should he? Hiro cared even less.

"Fair enough?"

And then he whirled around and slammed the front door shut before his mother could notice and ask about the problem.

No matter what she did, she couldn't fix it.

It had been ruined ever since the moment he'd been born.

* * *

There were no stars, not really, and if he looked at the sky and only the sky, maybe he could pretend that he wasn't here, and he was back in his dorm, with his dorm mates who knew nothing about his home life, and more importantly, the twin brother that he hated. The sky was the same wherever you were in the world, if you didn't pay attention to the stars that marked the locations, which was exactly what Hiro was doing. This could very well be the sky that he saw when he looked out of his window in his dorm, not that he did, but _still_.

He didn't like it here, all this neighborhood ever had was bad memories.

He impatiently tried to zip up his jacket against the growing cold of the night. It was still summer, but he knew it would only grow colder, it was nearing autumn, after all. If he was still in his old dorm, they'd be starting up the Halloween decorations by now, even though it was still many months before the season even began. His dorm mates would already be Christmas shopping.

He sighed. He was in Japan now, in his old home. There was no good in thinking about the golden days of the last few years. He could survive this. He did it before, he could do it again.

Besides, it wasn't as if he brought home something Kunimitsu could take away.

Not this time.

Hiro liked to think he was a smart person, and smart people learned from their mistakes. Hiro would, sure as hell, not make the same mistake over again.

Coming out of his thoughts, he looked around to find that his feet had taken him to the street tennis courts. The corners of his mouth quirked up. Even though he'd stopped playing, it figures that he'd end up unconciously walking here. Before, this had been the center of his entire existence. His life had, once upon a time, revolved in tennis.

But that had only been once upon a time.

Now it wasn't, not anymore. His own brother made sure of that.

That didn't mean he couldn't feel nostalgic. He took a few steps into the dim courts, inhaling the scent of _tennis_ that always seemed to linger in the air. This same scent had once made him feel so happy, so alive, so real. He'd step into the courts and just breathe it all in, and he was so sure then, that this was where he belonged, and it was where he would belong still, in the future.

He was wrong, but he'd been naive a long time ago.

He wasn't so naive now.

A small sound made him back up all the way to the edge of the courts once again, looking around his surroundings warily. It was still dark and there were no stars, but his eyes had gotten used to the darkness with only the moon's soft light illuminating the night.

Years from now, perhaps, Hiro was sure that he'd remember this moment. It wasn't in a fancy setting, in a fancy time, but it was the moment that he was sure would change his life, turn it around.

Because in this very moment, Hiro first set his eyes on the most beautiful creature that ever walked the planet.

There was a boy, and Hiro wasn't sure how he knew it was a boy, just that he _did_. That boy was leaning against one of the benches by the courts. His head was supported by the seat of the bench, while he sat on the ground. There were stray tennis balls around him, and, Hiro noticed that despite the fact that the boy was practically lying on the ground, his racket was carefully placed on the seat of the bench by his head.

The moon gave his skin an almost ethereal glow, and from Hiro's limited vision, it turned his hair into a wonderful light shade of brown that reminded him of honey. What limited light there was loved him, illuminating his high cheekbones, his pointed nose, his pink perfect lips. His eyes were closed, and his long, thick lashes fluttered against the skin of his cheek as he breathed rhythmically in and out, and in and out.

Hiro found himself matching that breathing. There was a serenity about the boy, a sort of innate grace that was there, even as he was still, and Hiro imagined what it would be like, when he was finally _moving_.

And then the boy's relaxed posture stiffened.

"Who's there?" a rich, cultured and almost-melodic voice called out.

Hiro stiffened, torn by two separate urges to run or to stay. But before he could make his decision, it was too late, and he was met with the most enchanting sapphires for eyes.

What it was like, looking through the boy's eyes, Hiro could not describe. It was like... It was like...

It was like after fourteen years of his life, his heart finally learned how to beat.

The boy was the one who broke eye contact first, blinking, almost like in disbelief. Then his eyes fluttered shut as he stood up, with as much grace as there was when he had only been sitting there, and he gave Hiro a smile that started the tingles in his stomach. There was a warmth and a gentleness to that smile, and Hiro could feel the warmth rushing to his face.

Thank heavens for the darkness, or he would have embarassed himself with blushing because of a simple _smile_.

The night breeze sent the strands of the boy's honey hair dancing, and as it reached Hiro, it brought with it the scent of vanilla and apple and something Hiro couldn't identify altogether that set his senses on fire.

"Back so soon?" the boy asked. There was a teasing lilt in his voice, and an air of friendly familiarity that shouldn't be there, because they were complete and total strangers.

Hiro felt something akin to dread settle on his stomach.

_Please_, let this boy not know who his brother was. _Please_, let this boy be a stranger. _Please_, don't let him be second to his brother again.

Not this time.

Not for this boy.

_Don't let him know Kunimitsu_.

The boy tilted his head to the side, rather adorably, his face taking on mild confusion, and Hiro found himself wishing harder.

And then, in the same melodic, gentle voice, the boy called out, and Hiro knew his wish had been left unanswered.

"Tezuka?"

* * *

So, there you guys have it :) English is not my first language so please do forgive the errors, if there are any. I let my friend read through this, and between the both of us, we figured we reduced the grammar mistakes to a minimum, but we're not perfect so... If you have time, I'd love to hear from you guys so... Review?

Oh, and Happy Christmas to everyone :)

/silverglitters


	2. (Syusuke) Shared Faces

**AN:** Thank you guys for reading and reviewing and following the story :) You guys are so sweet, I cry. Anyway, since it's the holiday season, I am able to dole out another chapter, so please enjoy :)

* * *

**II**

**Shared Faces**

(Syusuke)

* * *

"Tezuka?"

Fuji took a few more steps forward, ignoring the tennis balls he had disturbed. Didn't Tezuka say he had to go home already? Did he forget something here? Fuji glanced at the bench, knowing even before he looked that it was a futile attempt. Tezuka couldn't have left anything; he was too organized and responsible for that. And even if he did, Fuji would have already noticed.

Fuji looked back at the person standing at the edge of the courts, and it was then that he recognized his error.

"You're not... Tezuka," he said slowly. Not the Tezuka that Fuji knew, anyway. There was a marked difference to the way his stood, the way he bore himself, and even the air around him was different. He could see why he had committed the mistake, though, because from his limited view, this boy looked very much like Tezuka, and if Fuji hadn't known Tezuka very well, he would have thought they were the same person.

He didn't know Tezuka had a twin. And Fuji tried to ignore that sharp stab of what could be pain that lanced through his heart knowing that Tezuka didn't trust him enough to tell him.

"I am," the boy answered, fast and loud, in a voice that was Tezuka's and not-Tezuka's at exactly the same time. He took an involuntary step forward, bringing him closer to where Fuji was. "I mean... I'm Tezuka, but-" And he trailed off, as if he was unsure of how to proceed from there.

Fuji couldn't help the genuine smile that was making its way into his face. It was too cute, seeing someone bearing Tezuka's face unsure like this. It was almost as if it was Tezuka himself who was unsure.

"But not the Tezuka that I know," he finished gently.

"Yeah." He sounded disappointed, though Fuji wasn't quite sure what about.

"I'm your brother's team mate," he said, bringing a hand to his chest. "He's my captain."

The boy's reaction was surprising, because Fuji anticipated many comebacks, but he did not anticipate for the boy to look down on him, half-startled, half-pleased.

"What did you just say?" Tezuka's brother breathed, and Fuji backed up, considering for the first time that his assumptions were wrong.

"I assumed that Tezuka is your brother?" Fuji answered, his reply coming off more as a question than an answer. "Or am I wrong?"

And Tezuka's brother smiled, a beautific smile that made Fuji forget how to breathe. He'd been wanting to see Tezuka smile so badly these days, but Tezuka never let his guard down enough. And though he actually bantered with Fuji now every once in a while, with a sarcastic wit that would surprise many people, there had never been an actual, full-on, genuine smile.

So this is what it looked like, Tezuka's smile.

So this is what it felt like, knowing that smile was directed to _him_.

"You're not. Kunimitsu is _my_ brother, yes," Tezuka's brother was saying, moving closer to him as he spoke. Fuji found himself wanting to back up, but he was rooted to the spot by the power of that same pleased smile.

"Tezuka Kunihiro," he introduced, offering a hand to shake. Was he this close now, Fuji had a hard time properly noticing. He looked up to the boy's face, and sucked in a breath, because he had Tezuka's striking hazel eyes, and _he wore no glasses over them_.

Tezuka. Without glasses.

So this is what Tezuka looked like without his glasses.

Fuji couldn't tear his eyes away.

A cough brought him out of his reverie. And he couldn't help the jolt that went through his body. He slammed his mask back into place, smiling as if nothing was wrong even as he'd been caught staring so very openly.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "It's just that the resemblance between you and your brother is startling, Tezuka-san." He took the proffered hand, and noticed the lack of any athlete callouses.

Tezuka Kunihiro did not play tennis. Or if he did, he had stopped.

Curious.

"My name is Fuji Syusuke."

"Fuji-san," Tezuka's brother repeated, too quickly to not be enthusiastic. "The name suits you."

And despite himself, Fuji suddenly felt really shy, and he stomped on that feeling before it became too obvious and he embarassed himself. "The same goes for you, Tezuka-san."

"Please," he said, laughing softly. "Where I used to live, I was just Hiro." He tightened his hold on Fuji's hand, his face becoming open and vulnerable, which Tezuka rarely was, and at the same time, fierce and unyielding, which Tezuka rarely wasn't.

"I'd like it very much if you were to call me that."

"Tezuka-san," Fuji repeated firmly. His hand freed, he moved to collect his things from the bench, and gather all his stray tennis balls. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay long, but I'm already expected home."

"Do you live near here?" How it easy would be, to mistake his voice as Tezuka's. They were so similar, yet not, and Fuji did not know whether or not it was a good thing that he knew Tezuka enough that he was able to tell the difference.

"You could say that," Fuji replied, straightening up, clutching the strap of his bag tightly. "I have to get going, Tezuka-san." He gave a little bow, both of greeting and parting. "It was nice meeting you."

And he walked away.

The sound of running feet followed him the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs, and he turned around to face Tezuka Kunihiro's open, eager face grinning down at him.

Tezuka Kunihiro's face, which was just like Tezuka's.

Too much like Tezuka's.

"I'll walk with you," Kunihiro offered, taking his bag before he could even protest, and Fuji found himself wondering whether that warm feeling was because the offer came from Kunihiro himself, or because the offer came from the boy with whom Tezuka shared his face.

* * *

Fuji leaned against his front door, biting back a sigh.

One minute into the walk and already Fuji had realized that Tezuka Kunihiro was nothing and everything like his brother. On the one hand, he was a great conversationalist, outgoing, humorous and had a silly laugh that Fuji could never imagine Tezuka having. On the other, there were all Tezuka's little quirks – how his stare was intense and single-minded; how when he smiled, the left corner quirked up before the right; how when they talked, he made Fuji feel like he was the only person that could be seen in those hazel eyes. Kunihiro tried to hide them, yes, but they were there, and Fuji didn't understand why he would want to hide them away in the first place.

After all, Tezuka was his brother.

He tilted his head further back until it bumped into the wood of the door, wondering exactly what was getting to him.

Kunihiro had said he had been studying on an exchange student program in Germany, but now he was back, and maybe they'd even be in the same school (1). Fuji didn't know why, but he looked almost conflicted, half-happy and half-frustrated at that fact. And then there was the question of why he was in the program in the first place.

He was every bit the challenge that his brother was, although in many ways, they were different.

"Syusuke."

Fuji opened his eyes to see his sister peering at him through her newly-layered bangs. She was leaning against the living room doorway, already in her nightclothes and robe, but her sharp blue eyes were anything but sleepy.

"Was that Tezuka-kun who brought you home?" she asked, far too casually to be the result of mere curiosity.

Despite himself, Fuji glanced out the windows by the door. The walkway towards the house was empty, and so were the streets. It was peaceful, and undisturbed, and Kunihiro might as well have been a figment of his imagnation.

"Yes," he replied, reverting back to his usual mask. "And no."

He could feel the heavy weight of Yumiko's gaze. "I thought so," she said finally, not moving from her position. "Who was that, then?"

"Tezuka's brother," Fuji replied shortly, taking off his shoes and making his way towards the stairs. His sister followed him silently, as if there had been an unspoken agreement between them to have this conversation.

Fuji did not see the need, but he never did most of the time. He'd learned not to question Yumiko's actions, what she did, she did out of love, and that was all the knowledge Fuji needed.

"I didn't know he had a brother," Yumiko was mumbling, more to herself than to Fuji but he heard her anyway.

"Neither did I." Fuji grabbed at the doorknob to his room, squeezing it more than what was absolutely necessary, but before he could open his door, Yumiko's hand was resting on top of his own clenched one.

Gently, she turned him around so he was facing her, and her gaze softened into something that was a mix between motherly and sisterly. "It's not because he doesn't trust you and you know it."

Fuji deflated, shrugging and desperately clinging to his mask. "No, I don't."

Yumiko let out a breath, before she gave him a fond smile. It wasn't terribly happy, but that was not the point. "Promise me one thing."

Fuji hummed to show he was listening.

"You tread carefully," she warned, fixing his hair and tucking away the few stray strands that had been dislodged there. "You only have one heart. You know what that means."

Fuji only smiled, before he turned around to enter his room. His sister's gaze followed him, and he felt her watching even as he closed his own door and dropped his things.

"Good night, nee-san," he called, knowing she could hear.

Yumiko did not respond, because that wasn't what she was waiting for, that wasn't what she wanted to hear from him.

It was long before the sound of receeding footsteps alerted Fuji that his sister had finally left. She might have sighed, he didn't know, but whatever he could have done, Fuji couldn't have given her the answer that she wanted.

He lay in bed staring blankly at nothing for the longest time, thinking about nothing at all, waiting for sleep to come. It took him hours before he was finally able to drift off, and before he fell into slumber, his sister's words once again entered his consciousness.

_You only have one heart. You know what that means._

But his nee-san was wrong.

He did not.

* * *

"Fuji."

Fuji startled out of his thoughts, jumping slightly. He looked up to find Tezuka staring at him quizzically, his eyebrows scrunched together just so.

Fuji widened his smile. "Good morning, Tezuka."

"Are you alright?" Tezuka asked, forgoing the greeting entirely. It was just like Tezuka to be straight to the point like that. Another similarity, Fuji realized, that he shared with what little Fuji had seen of his brother.

A brother that, until last night, Fuji did not know existed.

"I'm fine, just a little sleepy," Fuji assured, falling into step beside his friend as they made their way to school. Fuji couldn't remember when this tradition started. One day he was walking alone to school, and the next he wasn't. And he hadn't been walking alone on the days following that. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when it began, but he remembered feeling extraordinarily happy because of it, and he hadn't been disappointed ever since.

Tezuka was constant like that.

"Don't let it on to be a habit," Tezuka ordered, taking his gaze away from Fuji now that he confirmed Fuji's well-being. "Lack of sleep can have many undesirable results. Don't let your guard down."

Fuji shot Tezuka a sunny smile that he knew was more real than forced. "Thanks. I'll remember that."

Tezuka only grunted in reply, and there were no words after that. Most of the time in these walks, it was like this. Just a few pleasantries exchanged when they met, and then they spent the rest of the few blocks they had to walk to get to school in companionable silence. It wasn't awkward and Fuji liked it; it was nice to just _be_ in Tezuka's presence, and Tezuka didn't seem all too adverse in walking with him, either. These morning walks held a sort of peace that Fuji always looked forward to having.

Except today, he had to ruin that peace.

"How's your brother, by the way?" he asked as casually as he could. He sighed in relief when his tone didn't sound the least bit hurt or accusing, but he didn't look up to see the look on Tezuka's face when he asked.

He didn't think he could handle it.

"You met Kunihiro."

"Last night," Fuji replied, his gaze fixed on the ground. _Sound casual, sound casual, sound casual_. "In the street courts."

"He went to the tennis courts?" Tezuka actually sounded surprised.

This time, Fuji couldn't help but look at him, because this was not how Tezuka was. The point was not that Fuji found Tezuka's tennis-uninterested brother in the street tennis courts, the point was that Fuji was Tezuka's friend, and yet he didn't even know of said brother's existence in the first place.

"Yes," Fuji found himself answering anyway, keeping his smile, but going back to staring fixedly on the street.

And before he could help it, he added, quietly, "You never told me you had a brother."

Tezuka paused, and Fuji stopped walking at the same time he did. They were near the school now, Fuji could see the gates, though there were still very few people there. Somehow Fuji knew that Tezuka was looking at much the same thing, or if he wasn't, then he most certainly wasn't looking at Fuji, either. Fuji waited for his friend to gather his thoughts, tightening and loosening his hold on the strap of his tennis bag.

It still smelled, very faintly, of mint and soap, a scent that was not of Tezuka's, but of Tezuka's twin brother.

"It did not seem worth mentioning," Tezuka finally said, in a voice that was soft, and altogether too quiet.

Fuji's mask dropped completely as he turned to stare openly at Tezuka.

_It did not seem worth mentioning_.

What?

It was his brother they were talking about. _Family_. Of course, family was worth mentioning, if there was ever anything worth mentioning in the world, it was that. Even if they did had a falling-out, which Fuji strongly suspected, that didn't mean your own brother was _not worth mentioning_.

Fuji knew. Yuuta had left, Yuuta had even gone so far as to hate him, but Fuji still loved Yuuta completely. He could not imagine ever considering his own brother as someone who wasn't worth mentioning. No matter what happened, family was family.

Fuji had thought Tezuka felt the same way.

"Tezuka, what-"

"_That's all_," Tezuka cut him off, with much more force, in a voice he used when he ordered laps.

And he started walking away. Fuji, for the first time in a long time, suddenly felt as if his friend was once again becoming unreachable.

"Is this because he doesn't play tennis?" he called after Tezuka.

Tezuka whirled around to face him, shock overtaking his features for the briefest of moments. It went as quickly as it came, but Fuji did not doubt what he was able to see with his eyes. He knew Tezuka enough.

Fuji knew Tezuka would say no. He should. Tezuka loved tennis, and Fuji suspected that it would always dominate his life, but Tezuka wasn't shallow. Tezuka wouldn't forget to live just because of tennis.

Right?

Fuji had hoped so.

And even he was surprised at exactly how strongly he wished that Tezuka would say no, because he was realizing now just _how much_ he had hoped that someday, there would be space for something other than tennis in Tezuka's heart.

"Think what you like."

This time, Fuji let Tezuka walk away.

He stayed rooted in the spot for a while, trying to even out his breathing. He unclenched his trembling hands, only barely noticing the crescent-shaped indentations his nails had left behind because of the sheer amount of force he had used.

And then he, too, started walking.

Tezuka hadn't given an answer. At least... It wasn't a proper answer, not really.

But it crushed the hope Fuji carried in his heart nonetheless.

* * *

When it was finally time to go home, Fuji was psychologically exhausted.

It wasn't as if Tezuka was keeping away from him, or that he was keeping away from Tezuka, either. But there _was_ a considerable marked difference as to how Tezuka regarded him today, and Fuji had spent all day trying to adjust to it so no one would notice anything off.

He even actually gave more effort than usual in the practice against Tezuka this time, instead of just plain out letting him win, though it did not help anything, because when Fuji was unable to return Tezuka's Zero-Shiki, making him the loser and earning him the Inui Juice penalty, Tezuka narrowed his eyes and Fuji could actually feel as if there was more frustration than normal. Because Fuji knew that Tezuka knew that he could have returned that shot, if he put his mind into it, but he didn't.

Fuji had already told Tezuka that if he would be a hindrance, then take him off the team.

It had devastated Fuji to say that, but he meant it.

He still did.

"Is it me," Eiji stage-whispered, slinging his arm around Fuji's shoulder as they walked together towards the school gates. "Or is Tezuka even meaner today than usual, nya?"

"I rather like to think that today's Inui Juice tasted quite well," Fuji replied, his smile quirking up teasingly. "So no, I don't think so."

Eiji's face, predictably, took on the horror he usually reserved for _Inui Juice_. "Fujiiiikooooo!" he wailed, launching into a full tirade about the dangers of Inui Juice. Fuji laughed quietly, letting Eiji air his complaints. They were usually very amusing, and if anything, it took his mind off of other things.

"..._green!_ And it's not even the nice kind of green! It actually looks as if it would come alive and eat you if you left it alone for a few hours, nya! That's not healthy! _That's not healthy!_"

"Vegetables are green," Fuji observed, still very much amused. "They're healthy."

"Nya," Eiji exclaimed, jumping in front of him and grasping him by the shoulders. His eyes were fierce and so very comically serious, Fuji had a hard time keeping his laughter in check.

"Fujiko," Eiji said heatedly. "What kind of brainwash did Inui put you through? You can tell me. Whatever it is, I will save you, nya."

Before Fuji could even open his mouth to respond, a separate, hysterical voice cried out, "_Brainwash?!_"

"Hello, Oishi," Fuji greeted pleasantly, as if Oishi's face had not taken on his usual motherly panicked face. It was cute, albeit funny, but it was the balance the team needed, because even though Tezuka cared, and he cared very much, he had a hard time showing it, and it was Oishi's comical paranoia that more than made up for that.

"What's this I hear about brainwash?" Oishi demanded single-mindedly.

Of course, by that time, Eiji had once again jumped into the fray (literally, for he jumped on his doubles partner) and enthusiastically started to lay-out his Inui-conspiracy theories and Fuji was left waving them off when they reached the school gates, with a small fond smile he couldn't help but give to his team mates.

"You have weird friends."

Fuji tilted his head to the side wonderingly. "It's what makes them special."

"I'm weird," the same voice commented. "That make me special, too?"

From the corner of Fuji's eye, he could see Kunihiro, leaning casually against the school gates. He was dressed casually, and stylishly, in a way that his brother would never dare to dress. He was all skinny jeans on leather jacket, and was taking off his sunglasses when Fuji finally turned around to face him.

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" Fuji replied, an amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Are you waiting for your brother?"

Kunihiro scoffed, and for a moment Fuji might have seen hatred cross Tezuka's brother's eyes. Kunihiro's face smoothed over quickly, so Fuji wasn't sure, but it reminded him very much of how Yuuta used to look at him, not so long ago.

"Fuji-san, he is not the one who owes me a date." Kunihiro's eyes were sparkling now, amused, and Fuji found himself pausing, reminding himself that no, this was not Tezuka and it would never be Tezuka.

If Tezuka's eyes ever sparkled, it would not be for Fuji.

It would never be for Fuji. It might be for Fuji's tennis, a brief light that would cross his eyes, because Fuji was the challenge, but even that was few and far between.

Fuji smiled, ignoring the pang of hurt, pretending it didn't exist. "Date?"

"I walked you home last night," Kunihiro explained, finally moving away from the gate, moving languidly towards him. "You owe me."

"It was my understanding that you forced yourself into my company last night," Fuji said. He paused to assess his tone: bemused, and half-interested, but not thoroughly committed. "And I allowed it. So I figure, _you_ owe _me_."

"Then I'm making up to you by taking you out on a date," Kunihiro grinned. He had a very infectious grin, and Fuji couldn't help the smile pulling on his mouth. Tezuka never smiled, but maybe if he did, it would be as nice and warm as this.

Kunihiro nudged his shoulder, familiarly, in a nice friendly manner that reminded Fuji of Eiji's shoulder-nudges. "C'mon, just sushi. I haven't had it in months, and I'll pay."

Fuji's smile widened. It was something he couldn't help, it just happened, and Fuji found that unlike many things that 'just happened,' he liked it.

"That's a yes!" Kunihiro whooped, stealing away his tennis bag once again. It was getting on to be a habit, but Fuji didn't mind. There was something... _novel_, almost, watching Tezuka's brother, carrying the Seigaku bag as if it contained unbridled joy in it, instead of responsibilities and duties and whatever else it was Tezuka took up upon becoming the Seigaku tennis club captain.

This was the first time in a long time Fuji didn't have to squint to see that Tezuka truly enjoyed tennis outside the courts.

...Even though it wasn't really Tezuka. And it wasn't really tennis, either.

"Just sushi, Tezuka-san," Fuji reminded gently.

That, at least, stopped Kunihiro from his jumping and got him back on the ground again. He turned to look at Fuji again, his smile chastising. "It's Hiro. _Hiro_. After all we've been through, you _so_ have the right to call me that."

"We've been through nothing," Fuji had known him for all of a few hours. They had one walk, one conversation and a few minutes of I-want-to-take-you-out-tonight, none of it really decent enough for Fuji to really get to know him, much less earn the right to call him by his first name.

But Tezuka's brother _did_ spend the last few years of his life in Germany, and they had different customs.

Fuji, at least, had to respect that. "But, if you insist, I suppose I could call you..." Fuji shifted, the intense feeling of uncomfortable shyness rising up once again. This time, it was harder to stomp it down. "...Hiro."

Kunihiro beamed, though the eagerness was still there. Fuji knew what he was waiting for – he was waiting for what he saw as the inevitable _"And you may call me Syusuke,"_ and Fuji's lips quirked up teasingly.

"And you may call me Fuji-san." Fuji offered him a wide, supercilious smile.

Kunihiro threw his head back and laughed. It was deep and rich, and Fuji had to shake himself inwardly, because this was not Tezuka, at least not the one he knew. It was easy to get deceieved, to believe it was different, and Fuji knew it was dangerous. He didn't really know what would happen if he fell for this deception, but he knew enough to know it would not be good.

This was Tezuka Kunihiro. Tezuka's _brother_.

Not Tezuka.

Never will be Tezuka.

He might have to remind himself this every once and a while, but he would never forget it, not now, not anytime soon. He would not let himself.

He shouldn't.

"Yep, shoulda expected that," Hiro said between chuckles. He glanced down at Fuji – he was about the same height as his brother – and gave him a sweet smile that shouldn't have looked good on Tezuka's stoic face, but _did_.

"I didn't know what I expected from his friend," Hiro reached out and ruffled his hair. He was tall enough for it, but Fuji did not feel like a kid at all. Instead, the warmth mixed with the shyness settled comfortably on the bottom of his stomach. "But you're alright, Fuji-san."

"You're different." It was the only word Fuji could think of that fit Tezuka's brother perfectly.

"Is different okay?"

Fuji shot him another almost-open, honest smile. "It's great."

Hiro returned another grin. He bowed, like a gentleman, and Fuji felt a half-foreign, half-familiar hand ghost over the small of his back. Fuji fought against the stiffening of his body, and kept his smile and his casual stance until the feel of the hand disappeared.

They were immediately drawn to conversation, Fuji laughingly leading the way because as it turned out, Hiro had absolutely no idea where the Kawamura sushiya was, and neither did he have a proper sense of direction. Before Hiro turned the corner though, he looked back towards the direction of Seigaku, and it might have been the light, or Fuji's imagination, or a combination of both, but Hiro had, for a moment, looked like he was smirking.

"...Hiro-san?"

And the smirk mellowed down into what Fuji had associated to his usual grin.

"_Hiro_," he corrected, running towards Fuji enthusiastically. "No honorific. Just Hiro."

Fuji just smiled. There was the warmth again, the same warmth he felt the first time Hiro had asked to walk him home last night.

But this time, Fuji was sure it was Hiro that he was seeing at this moment: Hiro's face, Hiro's eyes, Hiro's smile.

Hiro.

Not Tezuka.

* * *

(1) So I'm experimenting here, and I'd like to know what you guys think... Either Hiro could have gotten all the credits he needed in his previous school, and thus does not need to go to school any longer, or he didn't, and he still has to go to school... What do you think? I'm playing with both possibilities right now, and either way, the story will still go roughly the way I planned it to, but I just can't make up my mind so I thought maybe you guys can help me? :)

PS: I'm partial to the Fuji and Mitsu-kun paring, too ;) Plot bunnies just get in the way :) We'll see how it goes here, shall we?

Happy New Year, everyone!

/silverglitters


	3. (Kunimitsu) Racket on the Wall

**AN:** Your reviews are so so lovely :') Thank you so much, they are very encouraging :) I'll try my best for you guys so I hope I don't disappoint. Do enjoy :)

* * *

**III**

**Racket on the Wall**

(Kunimitsu)

* * *

Tezuka usually did not have dreams.

Most of his nights were blank, black voids; dreamless, but restful sleeps. But whenever he did dream, it wasn't about the tennis kingdom (which he would rule if he _did_ dream of it, but he didn't) with tennis racket trees yielding tennis ball fruits. Tezuka was logical in all things, even in dreams he couldn't really control.

Tezuka usually did not dream, but on times that he did, it was about tennis.

He could remember when he first dreamed about tennis, but it wasn't long after that when Tezuka taught himself to stop, because it didn't feel right that he was dreaming about it while Kunihiro was banging and moping and swearing off his racket the next door over.

His grandfather told him it was not his fault. His father told him it was not his fault. His mother told him it was not his fault.

It was the first time in his life that he didn't listen to his elders, because they were lying and Tezuka knew it.

It was his fault. And Kunihiro suffered for it. And Tezuka suffered because Kunihiro suffered, but that was all Tezuka could ever bring himself to feel.

And Tezuka suffered even more because that was all. He couldn't bring himself to do anything else.

Tezuka knew he deserved it.

But he couldn't do anything, and he still dreamed.

Sometimes, it was just him practicing against the wall, and he would be analyzing his moves and the flaws in them. When he awoke he would get on to practicing those flaws away, so that when he dreamed again, it was a different flaw and in the morning, a different practice regimen.

Sometimes it was Wimbledon, about him winning the Grand Slam, about him rising up the ranks until he was the world's number one player. When he awoke, he could hear the lingering traces of the cheers and he would have additional motivation to be better and train.

And then he met Fuji. Fuji and his silent, hidden talent. Fuji and the fierce sleeping lion hidden underneath the smiling mask and the lithe body. Fuji and the interrupted match they played against each other that day when they were first years.

His dreams started to be filled with Fuji. It was like the piece his dreams had always been missing, having a face, having _Fuji's_ face watch him, sharp and calculating blue eyes looking at him, assessing him from across the net. They would play, and Fuji would push Tezuka to his limits and beyond and Tezuka would wake up with the thrill still tingling in his veins, exhilarated and invigorated in a way he had never been before.

And during the day, Tezuka would look at Fuji, hiding his strength like always, and wonder when it will ever happen in real life.

But then one day, tennis just fell away.

Tezuka could not remember when he first dreamed of Fuji, _just_ Fuji; only that one day, it did happen, and that he didn't want to do anything to stop it.

It was unhealthy, it was all kinds of wrong, but Tezuka didn't want to it stop.

After all, he didn't often dream.

But when he did, he dreamt of Fuji.

* * *

The student council emergency turned out to not be an emergency at all and Tezuka felt himself working hard to smother down the overwhelming feeling of displeasure as he locked up the tennis club house for the day. All the players had left, the Regulars later than others, and Tezuka had wanted to talk to Fuji and apologize about his rather rude behaviour that morning.

He'd been wanting to do it all day, but Fuji seemed intent on acting as if Tezuka did not wish anymore to be acquainted with him.

Which wasn't quite true, but sometimes, Fuji had the tendency to believe in the worst things, and when his friend decided to believe in something, it was usually very hard to persuade him out of it.

Moreso if the one doing the persuading was Tezuka.

"_Is this because he doesn't play tennis?"_ No, it had never been about tennis. It had started with tennis, yes, but over the years Kunihiro's hatred had grown to become far more than the sport he quit because he despised his own brother.

"_Is this because he doesn't play tennis?"_ And the hope that he could see Fuji was trying to hide away from his voice _killed_ him. It was a question hiding another question, and Tezuka knew that they both knew which one Fuji really wanted an answer to.

Tezuka also knew that they were both pretending that they didn't.

So Tezuka didn't answer, and Fuji did not ask again. And Fuji wouldn't ever ask again, unless Tezuka answered the question on his own accord, because Fuji was just difficult like that.

Tezuka swallowed back a sigh, making his way to the front gates. He had to calm down and snap himself out of this before he left Seigaku. He had responsibilities to take care of and he couldn't take care of them if he wasn't focused. He had to focus.

_Focus_.

...and then he heard his brother's laugh.

It had been long since he had last heard of it. Kunihiro had only returned yesterday, and the one conversation they had ended in a disaster, as usual. They'd been kids when Kunihiro last laughed and even though he did now, it would certainly not be at Tezuka.

Yet here he was, laughing, _laughing_, standing by the front gates of Tezuka's school, holding a tennis bag emblazoned with the name of the club Tezuka belonged to.

A tennis bag, Tezuka realized, that belonged to Fuji.

And Fuji didn't seem to mind. In fact, Fuji looked miles away from being at all bothered. His stance was casual, and his smile was bemused and not quite fake because it looked all kinds of genuine.

Tezuka thought, they'd been kids when Fuji last smiled at him like that, and even though he did now, it was not at him.

Two smiles that he had missed, two smiles that he didn't know he missed, two smiles that weren't for him.

Not this time.

Kunihiro's eyes met his, and his brother's smile widened so much his eyes were crinkling. Kunihiro held his gaze for a few brief moments before he turned to Fuji once again, saying something, ruffling his hair, so _familiar_ even though the both of them had only just met last night.

And somehow, from the way Kunihiro had looked at him, Tezuka knew the display was for him.

His eyes narrowed. And it narrowed even more when Fuji looked completely fine, happy even. Fuji was always smiling, always happy, but somehow, at that moment, Fuji wasn't the carefully crafted smiling mask. The joy was real, he was happy, he was smiling, he was joking around.

But not with Tezuka.

Perhaps, and Tezuka sincerely hoped not, the feeling that he was trying to kill and bury was jealousy.

Tezuka had never been jealous.

It was not a happy feeling.

And when Kunihiro bowed, steering Fuji away with a hand on his back, Tezuka snapped. He started walking towards the pair, his eyes becoming narrower and narrower, and he didn't know what Kunihiro was doing exactly, or why he was doing it; and maybe he was doing it to spite Tezuka just for kicks, but Tezuka would not let him play with anyone's feelings like that, brother or not.

Most especially if that person was Fuji.

Tezuka was fast, but Kunihiro was faster, and by the time Tezuka got to the gates, Kunihiro had already steered Fuji around the corner. He turned his head to give Tezuka a final smirk, looking quite happy and smug with himself before he, too, disappeared around the corner.

Tezuka found his legs following, and without him knowing, he was moving, about to turn that corner, too, when the sound of their laughter stopped him dead on his tracks, and brought back his sense of reason.

It wasn't his business.

Kunihiro was his brother, but he had made it abundantly clear to Tezuka that he didn't want them to cross paths anymore than they should, and Tezuka should just stay away.

Fuji was his team mate and his friend, but what he did outside the courts was his business, and he knew Fuji could very well take care of himself and didn't need Tezuka's coddling.

_It wasn't his business._

But before Tezuka turned to the opposite direction, and headed towards his home, he paused once more to listen to the fading sound of their laughter. It was a beautiful mix; Kunihiro's was deep and gruff, Fuji's was light and airy. The sounds blended well together that for a moment, it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.

Tezuka knew he should be happy. His brother was forging a bond with his friend, and maybe Fuji would be good for Kunihiro and Kunihiro might be the Tezuka that he himself can never be to Fuji. And maybe one day, Fuji might even fix what little was left of his relationship with Kunihiro. He should be happy, as a dutiful and supportive friend and brother.

Tezuka turned around, his fists clenching until he felt his nails dug into the skin of his palm, and scowled.

* * *

Kunihiro wasn't at dinner. Their mother insisted they should not worry, because Kunihiro was a big boy, and he had lived by himself, independent of them for almost three years now. Besides, she had said that he called to inform her of his inability to make it to their dinner and to tell her where he was, and Tezuka had asked, but her eyes only sparkled and she gave him no answer.

Tezuka mulled over this as he played _go_ with his grandfather, and mulled over it when he was finishing his homework. And he mulled over it even more when he made himself comfortable inside the room he hadn't entered ever since Kunihiro upped and left.

The racket was there. It had been a special shipment, custom-made and ordered for their birthday that year. Tezuka had remembered Kunihiro loving it, taking it everywhere with him and even cuddling with it in bed; Tezuka had barely looked at it. Now, it was Tezuka who took his racket everywhere, and Kunihiro who barely, if at all, touched it.

It was ironic and not, and if Tezuka had the right sense of humor, it might even be funny.

But Tezuka never had the right sense of humor.

He straightened up when he heard the ruckus downstairs, and the inevitable footsteps that were heading towards the room he was in.

Kunihiro entered, wearing a disarming smile that would seem silly on anyone else, and Tezuka knew if he tried that, it would look silly on him, too. Tezuka thought his brother might be smiling because of what Tezuka had seen a while ago, and he hated that smile just for that.

"What are you doing here?" Kunihiro's smile had vanished the moment he saw Tezuka in his room, and now he was scowling, and rather darkly.

But what's new?

"Should I not be here?" Tezuka returned, calmly.

Kunihiro's scowl deepened, his look taking on absolute fury. "This is _my_ room, bastard. I don't want you in it. You have no right to be here."

"If I remembered correctly, this is _our _house."

"_So?_" Kunihiro demanded. He was becoming more and more aggravated by the second, and it calmed that foreign feeling in Tezuka down, because seeing Kunihiro aggravated was better than seeing him smile like that after his time with Fuji. "You fucking _moron_, this is _my_ private space. You have no business-"

"What was that?" Tezuka spoke over him, his voice louder, sharper and demanding. "By the front gates a while ago, what was that?"

At the question, Kunihiro cut off in his tirade, and stared at him for a long, long moment. And then, he lost his aggravated expression and gave Tezuka a smile. It was a terrible smile, and Tezuka knew it was one Kunihiro particularly liked to put on.

Especially if it was directed at Tezuka.

"So that's what this is," Kunihiro said slowly, sonding triumphant. "You're jealous."

"I'm not." But the reply was too quick, too sharp, and Tezuka didn't even have to hear himself to know he sounded several different kinds of defensive.

And the terrible smile grew. "Guess what, Kunimitsu?" Their eyes met. "Jealous or not, it's none of your business."

"You made it my business when you decided to _flirt_ with my team mate," Tezuka spat the word _flirt_, partly so that Kunihiro got the message, but mostly because the word felt bitter in his tongue. But Kunihiro didn't need to know that.

"_So?_" Kunihiro said, again. Except this time, he wasn't aggravated, he was taunting and challenging and feeling completely superior, and Tezuka didn't like it. "What he does outside the courts is hardly your business."

Tezuka would have wanted to argue that, but it was the exact same thing he had thought just a few hours ago. He hated that Kunihiro said it, and he hated that he thought it.

Kunihiro was still smiling. Terribly. "Unless... Are you two dating?"

Tezuka refused to answer that stupid stupid question. And when the silence dragged on for more than a few minutes, Kunihiro laughed.

It, too, was terrible. "Then it's none of your business." Kunihiro scoffed, stalking towards the frame that held his old racket. "What makes you think you have any right, anyway? _Because you knew him first_?"

Tezuka raised his head, and met his brother's baleful gaze. He refused to flinch at the accusation on those eyes, and the voice in his head that had started chanting all over again.

_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

"Have you forgotten?" Kunihiro slammed his fist against the strings of his racket. It made for a horrible sound, and at the force his brother was going, it was impossible to not be painful. But Kunihiro didn't even miss a breath. "What happened with _this_, you bastard."

Tezuka hadn't forgotten. Neither of them had, because Kunihiro would never let them. How Kunihiro fell in love with tennis first, practiced hard, begged for the racket. How Tezuka, absorbed with _go_, did not even give tennis a second glance. How Tezuka was forced into tennis, even though he was merely dutifully going through the motions, like a supportive brother would.

How Kunihiro loved tennis, and how Tezuka... didn't.

Kunihiro didn't even have to say anything. Tezuka never forgot and he never will, because Tezuka was reminded of it everyday, when he knew that he was the one who still held a racket, while Kunihiro's had been reduced to a mere decoration on the wall.

"Even though I was first," Kunihiro's whisper was loud in the quiet room.

And then the smile came back on, terrible and smug. "Tell me, Kunimitsu. How does it feel?"

* * *

Tezuka didn't know what to make of the hours he spent staring at his ceiling and not sleeping, but by morning, he decided that no, he should not be likely to do that ever again because his head was pounding and he _did not_ want to deal with the tennis club when his head was pounding. Not again.

Kunihiro didn't come down to breakfast, but it was nothing that was unlike the usual. Tezuka ate quietly, under the watchful, and frankly uncomfortable gaze of his mother. He stared at his food so he would not have to stare at her eyes. He knew she wanted to say something, and he waited patiently until she decided that it was the right time to talk to him.

Finally, she sighed. "Kunimitsu, is anything wrong?"

"No," the lie slipped easily from his mouth. It has always been the customary, automatic answer. Ever since whatever it was that happened between him and Kunihiro happened, they had mutually agreed to keep their parents out of it.

It was probably the only thing they still agreed about.

"I'm your mother, you know," she reminded him gently, and needlessly, because it wasn't as if Tezuka had forgotten; that was the exact reason why he lied to her in the first place. Her entire face was eager, as if she expected him to tell her everything any moment then, which he won't, just like how it went every single time she asked.

Tezuka always felt bad when he lied to his mother, but what was he supposed to tell her?

Yes, there were many, many things wrong between him and his brother, but none of it could be fixed by his mother, whose family vision is a universe away from how it actually was.

"And you're a wonderful one." It wasn't a lie. Tezuka just wished he didn't have to say it to cover up the truth.

Despite herself, Tezuka Ayana had to bow down her head and blush. Tezuka knew he hardly ever offered anything in conversation, and he gave out compliments even less, so when he did, the people who received them always turned out like this.

His mother offered him a bright, brilliant smile. "If you say so, then," she told him, flitting back into the kitchen to prepare Grandfather's meal.

Tezuka liked it when his mother smiled. She had dimples and she looked years and years younger than when her brows were scrunched together in worry. Tezuka stared down at his food again, and tried his best to not feel any guiltier than he already was.

A long time ago, his grandfather had told him that real men did not tell lies. He had not explained why, or how, but not-quite-ten-year-old Tezuka had wondered then just how many men in the planet other than his grandfather were real men. Because at not-quite-ten, Tezuka had known that everyone was a liar. They might not be telling big lies, or bad lies, but however you look at it, lies were lies.

...And Tezuka had lied often enough, the most prominent of those being, _"Nothing is wrong, Mother."_

And his mother, heaven bless her, believed him every single time. Tezuka should feel accomplished.

He didn't, and by the time he was walking to school, he was weighed down not only by the awful, pounding headache, but also the guilt. And before he knew it, he was about to turn the corner to the place where he and Fuji usually always met.

Tezuka paused in the middle of the road, and started wondering whether or not Fuji would still be there. Perhaps yesterday, Tezuka had ruined whatever something he had had with Fuji. Fuji had been distant enough, and because Fuji was never vocal about these things, much like Tezuka himself, perhaps Tezuka should take the hint and not expect any more of Fuji's friendship.

Surreptitiously, and frankly very stupidly, Tezuka craned his head to the side and tried to listen for the distinct sound of Fuji's footsteps. When there were none, Tezuka resisted the urge to sigh. It was a good thing he resisted, because if he _did_ sigh, he wouldn't know whether it would be for relief or disappointment.

And Tezuka didn't like it when he didn't know things, most especially things he should know himself.

He straightened his back and only managed a few steps turning the corner before he bumped into the very person he had been listening around for.

"Tezuka!" Fuji's face was flushed, and he jumped away quickly, but not before Tezuka registered their very brief body contact.

Fuji's skin, it turned out, was quite warm.

Tezuka mentally shook his head, trying to dislodge that very useless, very unnecessary piece of information. "You were waiting." _For me_.

"Yes... I..." Fuji blinked, and Tezuka picked up the fleeting flashes of his blue eyes. "Don't we always walk to school together?"

They did, so Tezuka didn't answer, just turned in the direction of the school and started walking. He could feel Fuji's eyes on his back, but Tezuka didn't miss a step, and continued walking. Fuji would follow in his own pace, and Tezuka didn't expect to know what the little genius was thinking about this time.

Tezuka knew Fuji, but he didn't know Fuji enough to know what he thinks of half the time. Unless Fuji opened his eyes, because his friend had the most expressive eyes Tezuka had ever seen. That is, if you knew where to look.

And Tezuka had been looking all the time.

Fuji ran up to him, barely, if at all, out of breath. "Tezuka, is something wrong?"

It was this morning with his mother all over again. "No."

A pause, and then his friend's eyes were glued to him once again. "You're lying," Fuji declared, voice hard. "Tezuka, you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't something big." And then, in a much softer, much gentler voice, Fuji added, "I'm your friend," almost as a pleading afterthought.

Tezuka knew that. Tezuka wished that was all Fuji was.

...Tezuka wished many things. Many of them don't ever really come true.

"I know," he replied, just as softly.

But he said nothing else and the rest of the walk to school was spent in silence. It wasn't comfortable and it wasn't awkward, it was just silent because Tezuka refused to talk and Fuji was stubborn enough to do the same unless Tezuka stopped refusing.

It never really worked, but they both did it anyway.

They were in the clubroom the next time Fuji addressed him again. They were the first two in, they were always the first two in, and the silent tension was a stifling atmosphere in the small room, where they were separated by walls from the rest of the world.

"Here," Fuji said, thrusting the paperbag he had been holding to Tezuka's hand. Tezuka peeked at the contents and saw that it was a black leather jacket.

More than that, it was Kunihiro's black leather jacket. The exact same jacket his brother had worn yesterday, and came home without, only then, Tezuka had been too distracted to notice.

"Thank your brother again for me."

Tezuka looked up from the jacket so he could see Fuji's smiling mask. "You were with him yesterday."

"Yes." Fuji looked positively serene, completely unperturbed at admitting to Tezuka that he and Tezuka's brother might have gone on what could be considered a date last night. A what-could-be-a-date that somehow ended up with Fuji wearing his brother's jacket home, and Kunihiro wearing a genuinely happy smile that he hadn't ever worn properly for the longest time now.

Fuji tilted his head to the side inquiringly at Tezuka's silence. "Should I not make friends with your brother, Tezuka?" he asked, and Tezuka, try as he might, couldn't exactly recognize his tone. "Do you mind it very much?"

"No," Tezuka answered firmly. "As long as it doesn't affect your tennis, I don't care what you do." But that was a lie, because Tezuka _did_ care. He cared too much.

He was such a liar.

Fuji opened his eyes, and watched him, almost curiously. Tezuka did not flinch and returned his gaze, once again caught up by the almost-not-there silver threads against the beautiful blue of Fuji's eyes.

Fuji smiled. "I'm not evil, you know," he said assuringly. "So you can stop looking at me like I'm the bad influence who is going to lead your brother down the path of darkness." The tone wasn't even his usual teasing hum, the one that usually told people that even if he was denying one thing, he was severely contemplating it, so they should beware, either way.

Tezuka didn't know whether or not he should be thankful for that.

Thus saying, his friend turned back to his locker, and started to change. "I look after my friends."

It wasn't Fuji that Tezuka was worried about, because it wasn't Fuji's intentions that were murky. No matter how sadistic Fuji claimed he was, he loved his friends and he loved his family; he would never even think of doing anything that would deliberately hurt them. Tezuka didn't think that Fuji even knew that sometimes, people did tend to want to hurt people close to them, when they were pushed into that breaking point. Fuji wouldn't even consider it, would much rather get hurt himself than see his loved ones hurt.

It was just the way Fuji was.

Kunihiro, on the other hand...

Well, Kunihiro wasn't Fuji.

"Just... be careful," Tezuka said, before he could stop himself.

Fuji whirled around, his shirt half unbuttoned, his eyebrows half-raised, and his face a mix between half-bemused and half-confused.

"Tezuka," he uttered wonderingly. "Are you seriously warning me against your brother?"

He looked almost chastising, but he also looked like he wanted very badly to laugh. Tezuka thought only Fuji could pull off a look like that without looking very stupid.

Tezuka sought out Fuji's blue, silver-tendriled eyes, and held his friend's gaze. "Yes," he said, turning away to face his locker once again.

He knew Fuji was confused, Tezuka didn't even quite understand it himself. A long time ago, Tezuka would have gone to hell and back to restore his relationship with his brother, but somewhere along the way, Tezuka really didn't know when, his priorities had shifted, and Kunihiro might as well have been a stranger.

It wasn't as if Tezuka didn't want to fix their damaged relationship, he did. It was that over the years, Tezuka had realized that it wouldn't ever be fixed, so long as tennis existed in either of their lives. Tennis dominated Tezuka's life completely, and even though Kunihiro pretended he didn't care about it any longer, it consisted of a great part of his life, too.

Why else did he still keep his racket?

Besides, Tezuka was about seventy percent sure that whatever it was Kunihiro was doing, he was doing it to mess with Tezuka, and it was working, too, quite well, in fact, whatever it was Kunihiro thought he was doing was messing up more than half of Tezuka's carefully-built life.

Over the years, Kunihiro had done many things that Tezuka allowed, if only because he was still living on the hope that they could be brothers again someday. Their constant battles had had many casualties now, their mother's feelings at Kunihiro's leaving being one of them.

This time, though, Tezuka would not let anything go wrong. It was a tall order, because people will get hurt, things just naturally proceeded like that.

But he woud be _damned_ before he'd let one of those casualties be Fuji.

* * *

Fair warning for you guys, though, I'm stuck back to Parasitology and Histology and MicroBio and more med stuff now that break's over... Don't get me wrong, I love medicine, but THERE. IS. JUST. SO. MUCH. STUFF. I feel as if I want to shoot things. Like, go kill yourselves, med books :P But don't worry, I'll write whenever I can find time to breathe :) More stuff will happen, I promise you ;)

So, I know what it feels like to be busy, but if you guys have the time, do drop by and leave a review :) Your critiques and thoughts mean so so much to me :)

/silverglitters


	4. (Hiro) The Tower and The Hanged Man

**AN:** I have absoutely nothing to say for myself, apart from I'm sorry. It's been a while, hasn't it? :( I swear, I really did try my best, but this is actually the first time in months that I've had any decent sleep. Medicine isn't exactly the best course when it comes to the sleep department (I actually don't know what sleep is anymore, what is sleep? Can you buy it in grocery stores?) -sheepish- Thank you so much for your lovely reviews, though :') Really. They are awesome, and very encouraging.

I hope this is worth the wait, guys -hopeful-

* * *

**IV**

**The Tower and The Hanged Man**

(Hiro)

* * *

Hiro had walked Fuji home for a grand total of two times. He should know the way to the other boy's house by now, or at least, know the general direction where he should be going. He should most definitely not be floundering by a lamp post, trying to figure out which turn he had to make so he'd get to the damn street where Fuji lived.

Hiro prided himself for being observant, it wasn't as if he was stupid, after all. He had sharp eyes, and he usually always remembered what was what when he needed to, only now he didn't, and he strongly suspected it was because the grand total of two times that he had walked Fuji home, the thought of even noticing anything other than the beautiful blue-eyed boy had never even crossed his mind.

Hiro sighed. It was nearing late afternoon, but he was still the only one hanging around the general area, so there was no one to ask directions from.

...This delay was really ruining his good mood. He woke up wonderfully this morning, because he had a wonderful sleep last night. After his win in the conversation-argument he had had with his brother last night, he suspected he couldn't feel anything other than _good_.

He spent the rest of the morning filling out papers, because his mother was his mother and she wouldn't be Tezuka Ayana if she wasn't concerned about her son's education. Hiro was smart, and during his time in Germany, he was certainly not idle. He took on more classes than he could count, and as a result, he only needed a few more credits to be able to graduate middle school. Credits from classes he didn't have to take in Seigaku.

Well, even though he _had_ wanted to see Fuji around in school, he was happy he didn't have to spend what was left of his middle school life with whispers behind covered hands following him wherever he went.

He knew, from Fuji's reaction, that Kunimitsu did not talk about him.

It was only fair. If Hiro was given the choice, he would also have pretended they weren't at all related.

"You."

Hiro had been too preoccupied to notice, but another person had joined him in the lonely suburban sidewalk. She was looking at him through her carefully curled long lashes. Her blue eyes were sharp and piercing, even as she tossed her shoulder length black hair back. She was holding a paper bag full of what Hiro assumed to be groceries.

"Tezuka-kun, yes?" she inquired, a faint greeting smile gracing her face.

Hiro opened his mouth, and closed it, surveying his new companion, trying to place why her features looked so familiar, though he was sure he had never seen her before in his life.

The lady's smile widened, and almost placatingly introduced herself, "My name is Fuji Yumiko. I'm Syusuke's older sister."

He blinked, looking her over with a new light. Now that she mentioned it, she looked like an older, more feminine version of Fuji himself. She was wearing a white, off-shoulder sweater, and a tight pencil skirt that hugged her body in all the right places. She had the same fair skin color as her brother did, and she had slender legs that went on for miles.

She could have been a model, and she was really pretty. But Hiro took pleasure in noticing that seeing her in her tight, body-hugging, leg-exposing pencil skirt did absolutely nothing for him, while seeing her brother buried under layers and layers of uniform fabric made him forget how it was exactly to breathe.

"It's nice to meet you, Fuji-san," he returned pleasantly. "Do you want help with your groceries?"

"Thank you,," she said, as Hiro reached over and took the bag for her. It wasn't particularly heavy, and this way, he would actually get to Fuji's house without being lost any longer.

Fuji's sister was still smiling at him. "I thought your house was that way, Tezuka-kun," she commented, pointing to the direction he came from, though there was a teasing lilt to her voice that made Hiro think that she already knew what he was doing so very far away from home.

"I thought I'd..." Hiro paused and tried to think of a diplomatic way to tell Fuji's sister about his interest in her brother.

She hummed, still very much the smiling-teasing older, and he walked beside her, carefully keeping his eyes on the gleaming apples sitting innocently on top of the other items in the grocery bag so he did not have to see her eyes laugh at him.

Finally, he just settled on, "He has my jacket. I'd like to get it back." He kicked himself mentally, multiple times, because that sounded so stupid, he didn't even know what to think of himself.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Fuji's sister's lips twitch. It wasn't Hiro's fault, he wanted to tell her the real reason, but his mind decided on fumbling and falling all over itself to find a diplomatic answer. And he heard that older sisters liked to tease. Of course, she'd laugh.

"Certainly," she said, sounding not convinced at all. "But Syusuke comes home late, or didn't you know? He has tennis practice."

...Yeah. Hiro had conveniently forgotten about that one.

"But you're welcome to stay and wait for him," she offered, turning to the walkway of the quickly-getting-familiar Fuji family house. She inserted her keys. "I'll make tea."

Before Hiro could say it was completely unnecessary, he wasn't a tea person, she had already ushered him in, holding her hand out for the groceries that he was carrying. Hiro passed them over, and then, devoid of any actual thing to hold on to, he stood awkwardly on the doorway, unsure of where to go from there.

He _really_ should have thought this through.

Laughter danced merrily on the eyes of Fuji's sister as she gestured, almost uncaringly to what Hiro assumed was the living room. "Make yourself at home." And then she disappeared to only heaven knew where.

Hiro shrugged and trudged quietly to the room Fuji Yumiko pointed at. Already he could see the difference between this house and his own home. The walls were peppered with pictures, many of them a repeating image of a younger Fuji, along with a smaller boy, and his older sister. Her hair in the photos were as honey-brown as her brother's, so her current black was probably dyed.

Even the mantel by the fireplace was full of pictures frames artistically arranged, though here, only a few photos featured Fuji and the younger, scowling boy with the spiky dark brown hair and blue-grey eyes so different from his other siblings'. The one on the center seemed to be the latest picture, and it was of Fuji, in blue jersey, clinging almost teasingly to the arm of the younger boy in a different, brown and white jersey. The boy was already taller than Fuji in the picture, and still scowling, but Fuji was wearing a wide, almost ecstatic smile. His lips were parted, almost as if the photo was captured in the middle of a laugh.

He looked beautiful.

Before his mind could even think, his hand was reaching out to touch the photo, completely transfixed by Fuji's apparent captured moment of happiness.

"That's our younger brother, Yuuta."

Hiro jumped, quickly putting his hand away, even though he knew he had already been caught. He turned to see Fuji Yumiko making her way to the low coffee table, setting down the tray bearing a complete porcelain tea set with practiced ease. She beckoned him over, and he sat on one of the floor cushions, though there was a fluffy couch directly behind it.

"I hope Darjeeling is alright for you," she was saying, pouring him a steaming, fragrant cup.

In truth, Hiro didn't even know what Darjeeling was known for, if it was known for something at all. But he sucked it up and nodded as Yumiko placed the teacup in front of him, right beside a stack of what looked to be elongated cards. The design on the back was half-sun, half-moon, with the sun's rays extending and curling towards the moon's half.

Fuji Yumiko's hand settled over the stack. "My tarot cards," she said, tilting her head to the side, watching him with a smile he couldn't really understand. "Consulting them gives me a sense of... tranquility."

And indeed, the air around her was changing. Carefully, slowly, she spread the stack before him, her hand lingering for a moment longer before she drew it away.

"Go on," she urged, still with her unreadable smile. "Pick one."

Hiro looked at her, and then the spread of cards and then back again. She seemed to be serious, at least, so he surveyed the spread and picked one on the near left, flipping it over, and as he did, the card beside it was dislodged and flipped over, too.

The card he flipped over himself read, _The Hanged Man_, and the picture was much like the label; it was of a man hanging upside down on what seemed to be a tree. Beside it lay the card he accidentally dislodged, all dark and fire and lightning, and that might have been a person falling. It read, _The Tower_.

He didn't know much about tarot cards, actually, he knew nothing at all except you can apparently tell the future with them, but the pictures looked bad enough. He looked up to meet Fuji Yumiko's eyes, they had darkened into a deeper shade of blue, and the look on them was as unreadable as her smile.

The silence stretched so long, Hiro almost gave in to the urge to squirm underneath Fuji's sister's gaze.

"Interesting that you also took out The Tower," she finally said. "But I think you understand what The Hanged Man should mean to you."

Hiro didn't.

Yumiko took pity on him, and gave him a rather sad smile. "Tezuka-kun, that card means an unattainable dream, or an unreachable desire, a sacrifice: something you must give up, or be deprived of."

Story of his life. After all, how long had he mourned the fact that he had had to give up tennis because of his stupid brother? He hadn't even finished mourning yet.

He never will.

"Yeah," he said, meeting her eyes once again. For a brief moment, they looked to be infinitely wise and knowing, and completely unreadable once again.

"Tezuka-kun," she said, her gaze drifting down to the cards. "Understand that we are not talking about the past. These cards are not for that. We are talking about things that only just happened: something you have just gained, and you have yet to lose."

But that was impossible, because Hiro hadn't 'gained' anything recently. He'd just gone home, so actually he'd just lost all his long-desired freedom, his friends, his little corner of happiness. In fact, the only thing close to something he had only just gained, and had yet to lose was-

Hiro whipped his head to look at Fuji's sister in horror. Her eyes gave nothing away, and she only continued smiling, _smiling_, completely unperturbed and tranquil.

"And The Tower?" he was almost afraid to asked. "What's that mean?"

"An advice," she answered. "Tezuka-kun, when you build a wall to hide your secrets, or conceal your true self, sooner or later, that wall would come tumbling down."

Hiro's entire body stiffened, and he clenched his hands to hide just how much he was shaking. She couldn't... She couldn't possibly...

Did she _know_?

He stood up abrubtly, his cup clattering unsteadily. "I have to go."

She blinked, her expression morphing back to the pleasant older sister that she had been before she sat him down in front of those accursed cards. "But I thought you said you wanted to wait for Syusuke?"

"No, I'll..." he bowed hurriedly. "Next time." He bowed again. "Thank you for your hospitality, Fuji-san."

And even as he walked briskly away from the house, he could still feel her unreadable eyes staring after him, like a piercing lance directed at his back.

* * *

Hiro stared at the phone and dialled the number he still knew by heart for the millionth time. International calls were expensive, and they probably cost more than he could afford, but he had to do this, he _had _to.

...And anyway, it didn't matter that it was expensive because no one was answering the goddamned fucking phone!

Hiro barely resisted the urge to throw it. He slammed it down his table and booted on his computer, immediately going to his favorite search engine.

There were more than two million results to his search query and he clicked all the links on the first page open.

He checked for the meaning of _The Tower _first, before he went on ahead and looked at _The Hanged Man_, too, just to check.

And just his luck that all the websites said the exact same thing she said. Actually, most of them even said far worse.

He could feel his anger start to boil over.

Hiro looked at the phone, and dialled once again. He paced around his room, impatiently waiting for someone, _anyone_, to pick up the damned phone already. When he finally got the busy tone, his temper spiked up so high, he wasn't able to resist.

The sound of the phone breaking as it hit the wall, _hard_, left a deep feeling of satisfaction in Hiro's gut that made him feel like he wanted to do it again.

* * *

Hiro was in the living room, trying to distract himself when Kunimitsu came home. Hiro paused his almost automatic reaction to turn off the television and decided that he didn't care, Kunimitsu could just fuck off.

Anyway, it wasn't as if his bastard for a brother would actively seek him out. He had nothing to say that would interest Hiro and Hiro had even less than that. What were they gonna do? Sit around and talk about all the nothing they had in common? Hiro snorted and decided he wasn't interested.

The sound of trudging feet broke through his thoughts and a small paperbag he did not remember ever seeing before in his life appeared before his line of vision. There was a hand holding the paperbag. Knowing who it was attached to, Hiro straightened up and tried to find a comfortable position to watch the television with the thing blocking the way.

He wasn't very successful. "...What's this?" But only because he wanted to watch his show already.

"A paperbag." Thus saying, Kunimitsu dropped the paperbag at his feet and left.

Hiro stared at the doorway through which his brother left, and wondered when exactly he became a smart ass. Hiro would have noticed; he noticed everything.

His gaze flickered back down to the paperbag and his eyes immediately caught the black leather – his jacket. He'd given it to Fuji, because he wanted to have an excuse to visit. It worked well enough before the disaster of a while ago. It still would have worked well enough any other way, but now it was here, and it was Kunimitsu, not Hiro, who got the extra few minutes with Fuji because of this jacket.

Hiro wanted to throw it. It wasn't like it was anything special anyway. It was his birthday and his girlfriend had decided she wanted to buy him something expensive. She got a secret part-time job that had Hiro half-believing she was cheating on him, and on his birthday, hers was the most awfully-covered present among those he had gotten.

But hers was also the most-loved present among the bunch.

Hiro had loved her, and he had loved her very much. He thought they were going to spend the rest of their lives in Germany together.

But that was before she went and ruined everything.

Besides, compared to Fuji, she was nothing very special. So perhaps something good came out of this anyway.

Hiro lifted the jacket to his nose. If he tried hard enough, he could still smell a bit of Fuji on it, a bit of the vanilla and apple and the scent he had come to associate with Fuji, ever since that first night.

Hiro breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent again. His entire body reacted, almost desperately, it was such an intoxicating scent, from such an intoxicating person.

Fuji was so beautiful. He was so beautiful, it hurt. Hiro couldn't believe it, all this time, all the things he'd been missing because his brother drove him out of his own country. All the time wasted, all the wasted opportunities, and the thought that every single one of those opportunities that he did not have, _Kunimitsu_ did.

How the first word Fuji had ever said to him was _"Tezuka?"_ and it wasn't even Hiro that Fuji had been calling out for.

Hiro's hand tightened around his jacket until it was almost too painful.

Before he could even think about what he was doing, he was ambling up the stairs, running down the hallway, and bursting through an unfamiliar door. Kunimitsu had been directly on the other side, and his arm shot out faster than Hiro had thought possible, gripping the doorframe and preventing the very loud bang it could have caused if it hit the wall.

"You're here." There was no surprise in his voice, in fact, there was almost nothing at all, just a stern hardness and an almost couldn't-care-less curiosity that he had never used on Hiro ever since the day he took tennis away.

"Be honest with me." Hiro steeled himself.

"Do you like him?" He raised his jacket, even though they both didn't need any indication as to who Hiro was talking about.

"I..." He could feel the wavering of Kunimitsu's previously fierce gaze, and it seemed almost funny, ironic, even, that the day Hiro found Kunimitsu's weakness, he'd also found his own.

"Do you like him?" he repeated, more demandingly, shaking the jacket out in front of him. When there was no answer again, he took a deep calming breath, and he continued. "Because I do." He paused. "Do you remember this scene? A few years ago, I asked you the same thing about tennis. Do you remember what you told me?"

Hiro remembered it like it was yesterday.

_I don't care about tennis, Kunihiro. It is meaningless to me._

And he had been so naive, he believed it.

His entire body trembled with barely-suppressed rage. His arm twinged, as he shook the jacket in front of Tezuka again, wishing it was the white racket he had loved so much, the white racket he couldn't use anymore because of _him_. "_You lied._"

Kunimitsu still did not respond, and all of the sudden, Hiro did not want to continue this conversation, he was so disgusted, he did not understand why he wanted to start this at all. He whirled around and stalked off, annoyed and angry, and wishing there was something else he could throw and tear to pieces.

His hand was on his doorknob when his brother called out for him.

"Don't mistake anything," Kunimitsu said, sounding far less convincing than he usually did. "Fuji and I- We're.." He trailed off.

Hiro didn't even need to turn around to know. _Just team mates_, Kunimitsu would have said.

Liar. And after Hiro had asked him to be honest, too. So now, apparently, even Hiro wasn't good enough for the truth? Hiro felt his lip curl in rage.

He slammed his door shut. Hiro leaned against it, tilting his head back until it banged against the door. Once, twice, three times. In the darkness of his room, he could still make out the form of the racket he can never use, and he inhaled sharply, fighting against that awful, disgusting urge to fucking _cry_.

Fuji's faint, barely-there scent fluttered up to his nostrils, and he clutched his jacket close, even though it was cold, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pretend it was anything else.

* * *

"Thank you for bringing back my jacket."

Hiro observed Fuji as he gave a slight start at Hiro's greeting statement.

It was morning, and Hiro had finally remembered how to get to Fuji's house. He also knew that Kunimitsu left the house at particularly early times, probably for his club activities, and because Fuji was part of the same club, he figured Fuji'd be early, too.

He gave a small smile when Fuji finally spotted him. It widened considerably, of course, the moment Fuji gave his own teasing smile, and lifted his hand up to wave.

"Hiro-san," Fuji greeted, his voice tentative, and rather cute. Of course, he was cute all the time, but he was even cuter like this, unsure and shy around Hiro. It made him feel good to know that he could have this kind of effect on Fuji.

Shy was good. It meant Fuji thought of Hiro well enough that he didn't want to embarrass himself in front of him.

"Morning," he responded, casually taking Fuji's tennis bag and slinging it on his shoulder. Fuji didn't even protest, and it made Hiro feel all the more good. Even though... "It's _Hiro_, Fuji-san."

Fuji laughed. It was a soft laugh, and it was more uncomfortable than happy, but Hiro could work on that.

"It takes some getting used to," Fuji finally said. "I don't... know you."

_I don't know you_. No, he didn't, and wasn't that also Kunimitsu's fault? Maybe, if Kunimitsu had cared enough, if Kunimitsu had thought of other people enough, Hiro wouldn't have been driven out of Japan, and Hiro could have had the three years that Kunimitsu had. But Kunimitsu was a bastard, and like all bastards, he was a selfish asshole, and Hiro had been driven out of Japan. Of course Fuji didn't know him.

_I don't know you_. But Fuji knew Kunimitsu, didn't he? Fuji was a friend of Kunimitsu's, wasn't he? If it was Kunimitsu who would ask Fuji to call him by his first name, would Fuji have refused? Would he be happy, instead of uncomfortable? Would he have to be reminded that he had the permission to address Kunimitsu so intimately every single time? Hiro severely doubted it.

It just made him hate Kunimitsu even more.

"We have time," he said in a voice that was far more cheerful than what he felt. "I'd like very much if you get to know me, and..."

Somewhere during the time he had been speaking, Fuji's eyes had fluttered open. And just like the first time he saw those eyes, he was struck by how ethereal they were. They were so beautiful, and so _blue_, and they suited Fuji so damn well, it couldn't be real.

And yet it was. Fuji was standing right in front of him, the perfect picture of the perfect beauty, and it was real, and he was _so close_.

Hiro was breathless.

"...And I'd like to get to know you, too, Fuji-san." His voice was soft, and almost inaudible, but that didn't matter, because they were _so close_, _so close_, all he had to do was lean a little closer, they were so _close_ already-

Fuji turned his head quickly away. Hiro snapped out of whatever trance it was that he fell into. He drew in a sharp breath and let it out slowly, taking time to calm himself and his raging senses. He set his face tightly so he wouldn't be able to give anything away, and observed as Fuji tried, and horribly failed, to conceal the fact that he was trembling.

He was _trembling_.

Hiro didn't know if it was the good trembling or the bad trembling, or maybe even just the it-was-cold trembling, but he had a strong suspicion that he did not want to find out.

_Damn it._

"Fuji-san, I'm-"

"_Don't_." It was a whisper, but it got to Hiro like a good slap in the face, its effect on him worse than any shouting could have been. "_Don't_."

Fuji did not look at him, just held out his hand for the bag Hiro still clutched. Hiro was almost unwilling to be parted from it, and he found himself actually exerting much effort to disentangle his hand from the strap. He handed it over slowly, and tried not to feel anything when Fuji refused to even look at him when he took it back.

"Fuji-san, let me-"

"No." Still a whisper. "_Don't_."

And then he walked away.

Hiro watched him go, with a feeling that was somewhere a cross between angry at himself, and angry at Kunimitsu. At this moment, he wasn't quite sure who he could hate more, only that he could _hate_.

Leadenly, he followed Fuji as he made his way to the school, only to pause in turning the corner, because _Kunimitsu_, of all people, _Kunimitsu_ was there, looking as if he was expecting Fuji, as if he was waiting for Fuji, as if this happened everyday and Hiro didn't even know about it.

From his position, he could hear them, not as clearly as he would have liked, but clear enough.

"Fuji."

And then, in a placating, reassuring, gentle, _gentle_ tone he'd never used on Hiro, Fuji said, "I'm fine, Tezuka."

There was a brief pause, one that tempted Hiro to peek, but before he could, Kunimitsu was saying, "You know I wouldn't ask, if it wasn't something big."

This time, Hiro did peek.

Kunimitsu was eyeing Fuji with an expression Hiro couldn't identify, and a corner of his mouth was quirked upwards, in what could have been the beginnings of a teasing smile. Fuji was gaping at Tezuka, his eyes wide open, before his expression smoothed over into something so gentle, so open, complete with a smile Hiro had never seen, it killed Hiro to see it. There was still something almost melancholy about it, but it was a look he hadn't given to Hiro nonetheless.

And then he laughed, his entire frame relaxing, as if there had just been an exchange that Hiro was not privy to, as if they knew each other so much, they could communicate with just their eyes, and Hiro _hated _it, he _hated it_.

Fuji was so beautiful, smiling like that, he was so goddamn fucking beautiful, and that look wasn't even for Hiro.

No, it was for his bastard, selfish asshole brother.

He was so beautiful, but it almost seemed like Hiro had been robbed of his chance with him before he even knew him.

_The Hanged Man_.

The unattainable dream. The something Hiro had gained, the something Hiro would lose.

But he wouldn't.

He wasn't going to lose to Kunimitsu.

Not again.

* * *

And that's it for now :) Still slow updates, though, because we don't exactly get summer breaks... Also, I'm in the middle of this high-stakes bet with my boyfriend, in which I have to write a hundred-thousand-word story from scratch in like a month and I WANT TO WIN SO BAD, MY REWARD IS AWESOME. I just started though so I'm still at about 30K, and I'm not making good progress :'(

Wish me luck? :)

/silverglitters


	5. (Kunimitsu) Liar, Liar

**AN:** La~ I survived summer, yey (mostly spent it studying, though)~

So, here's the fifth chapter, for you guys :) I'm not really satisfied by it. It all worked out somehow in my head, but then I write it down, and the entire thing just gets ruined, I don't know why... Actually, I do :P I'm still an amateur, haha. So thank you so much for bearing with me and my amateur-ness, it means a lot to me :')

* * *

**V**

**Liar, Liar**

(Kunimitsu)

* * *

"Fujiko, I know you like trying to look cool and all, _and I swear you do so please don't put anything on my toothpaste_, but that's my jersey you're putting on."

Kikumaru looked like someone who had a secret.

Once upon a time, Fuji had told Tezuka that Kikumaru – bouncy, catlike, impulsive, horrendously irresponsible Kikumaru Eiji who mooched homework off of Fuji like there was no tomorrow – was actually perceptive if anyone gave him room to try. Tezuka had severely doubted it then, but now, when Kikumaru was shooting Fuji worried glances while Fuji was on his best everything-is-okay act, Tezuka found himself actually starting to believe it.

Fuji's acting wasn't even any way off. If Tezuka hadn't seen how Fuji was this morning, how his composure was fraying along the edges, Tezuka would have never known – _never known_ – that something was wrong.

The thought horrified him, and even though he would never admit it to anyone else, he actually found himself wondering just how many problems Fuji had hidden behind his smile, and just how many times Tezuka _didn't know_ about it.

It was this extreme, unbridled protective urge that had Tezuka biting his lip and turning his head away because he can't do it, he _can't_.

He wanted to.

But he can't.

Things never worked out so very well like that, and Fuji had never given any indication, and how would he make Fuji feel, if it was really like that, if he really felt like that and what if Fuji _didn't_?

And besides.

Besides.

_Do you like him? Because I do._

Someway, somehow, it had been a very familiar scene.

_Ne, do you like tennis, Kunimitsu? Because I like tennis._

Tezuka hadn't liked tennis, not at first, not when he had been busy with things like _go_ and _shogi_ and _karuta_, and tennis had been an awful non-Japanese thing that Kunihiro had picked up from television. Tezuka had been raised by his grandfather, his life lined with his grandfather's rules and ideals, and there was never any man who was more Japanese than Tezuka's grandfather.

But then, tennis came to Tezuka, in the way destiny or fate or whatever other universal force comes knocking down your door and shoving your purpose in life to your face usually did.

And Tezuka's tennis world started turning.

And Kunihiro's just... stopped.

It was almost sad.

"Sorry, Eiji."

Tezuka could hear the ruffle of clothes, and neither he nor Eiji missed the fact that Fuji had even forgotten how to tease. Tezuka's gaze traitoriously gravitated back to Fuji, that he almost missed the pout, and the knowing look Kikumaru had cast his best friend. Fuji smiled back placatingly, before his gaze rose up to meet Tezuka's own.

Tezuka suppressed the heat creeping up his cheeks, and pretended that he had not just been caught staring. Instead, he regally ran his gaze carefully around the people still in the clubroom, and barked, "Those of you finished changing, stop lagging around and go out to practice!"

The entire room jumped into attention, and a chorus of "Yes, _buchou,_" marked the mass exodus of those still inside the clubroom, until the only people who were left inside were Tezuka, Kikumaru, and Fuji, who was yet to change into his proper jersey.

"You too, Kikumaru," Tezuka said, warningly.

Kikumaru looked like he was about to whine. Tezuka felt tired already just by thinking about it, nothing good ever came out of Kikumaru's whines. But, in a display of maturity completely beyond what Tezuka thought him capable, he cast a long glance at Fuji, and then at Tezuka, before he sighed, made some excuse or another about Oishi and doubles formations, and left.

Fuji was still watching him. His eyes were open now, a wonderful blue, with a glint to them that reminded Tezuka of that brief period in time when Yuuta had decided to leave, and Fuji had been lost and had taken to blaming himself for everything. It was almost as if Fuji was pleading with Tezuka, pleading with anyone to tell him that no, it wasn't what Fuji thought it was, and Fuji wasn't as evil as he thought.

And Fuji wasn't. Tezuka, of everyone, knew that Fuji wasn't. He wished he could say it, he wished he could reach out and pull Fuji out of the circle of self-loathing he had built for himself, but the words were stuck in his throat and his limbs were stuck in his stillness.

Instead, Tezuka said, "You're still distracted."

What he really wanted to say was _I care, Fuji, you can tell me what's wrong. _

_Please._

But of course he couldn't, because he was a liar like that.

Fuji looked almost startled. Tezuka couldn't blame him; it was clear he expected something else, _everything else_ out of Tezuka. Tezuka just couldn't give it.

"...Sorry," Fuji's gaze dropped to his shoes, and even though he was just a few feet away, Tezuka suddenly felt as if he was very far, and Tezuka couldn't reach him.

Tezuka watched as Fuji fiddled with his hands, before he finally raised his head again, closed-eyed and smiling, and Tezuka couldn't read anything from his actions anymore. "Sorry, Tezuka," he gave a little salute. "I'll fix myself up, so don't worry, _buchou_. This won't affect my tennis, I promise."

He was so far. Tezuka could feel it, the gulf between them widening and widening the longer the time Tezuka took to stop lying and tell the truth. Fuji was in agony, was hating at himself again, and Tezuka wanted to reach him, he _wanted to_, so much, and that was exactly the reason why he can't.

Tezuka wanted to say, _That's not what I'm concerned about! _and he wanted to shake Fuji because Fuji had it all wrong. He wanted to embrace Fuji, and stop feeding him lies, and make him feel better and try again and again until he had nothing left to give. He wanted to fix whatever ruined image of him Fuji had now, because Tezuka hadn't allowed himself to grow closer to Fuji just because he was an asset to the dream of a Nationals trophy.

He wanted to say, _It's not your tennis that I care for._

But Tezuka was a liar, and he was a damned good one, and the right words never make their way past his mouth.

"See that it doesn't," he replied curtly, and then he left the clubhouse and Fuji's pleading eyes, hurriedly, before he became even more disgusted with himself.

* * *

It was the next morning that Tezuka finally got smart and figured out what was wrong. It was almost frustratingly stupid, how Tezuka had never thought about it, never even _considered_ it, until he saw Kunihiro sneaking out of the house at the same time that Tezuka left, looking decidedly well-groomed, showered in men's cologne that made Tezuka's head ache and headed in the general direction of Fuji's house.

It could have been paranoia, but Tezuka was never careless and there was never such a thing as coincidence where Kunihiro was concerned.

"Kunihiro," he called, sharply, after his brother. What had he done, Tezuka thought, what had he done that had caused Fuji to return to the state he had been in when Yuuta had left? Tezuka had worked, _very hard_, to get Fuji out of it, and _what had Kunihiro done_?

Kunihiro ignored him.

"_Kunihiro,_" he repeated, sharper, more forceful, and with almost as much venom as Kunihiro usually reserved for Tezuka himself. "Where are you going?"

Tezuka remembered Fuji's face, and _Sorry, Tezuka_, and the sad self-loathing agony that he could have sworn he saw in Fuji's eyes.

Tezuka had never felt angrier in his life.

Kunihiro paused, and languidly turned around. He raised an eyebrow, but his gaze was vicious, a complete hybrid of a gaze, one that was half-smug, and half-hate.

"I don't need to report my activities to you, didn't I already make that clear?"

It was strange, to be so angry and so numb at the same time, like the anger had robbed him of any feeling, snatched it away until there was no memory of anything else but the anger. "Yesterday, what did you do to Fuji?"

A brief flash of something Tezuka could not identify went through Kunihiro's face, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Kunihiro eyed him, for a very long time, and Tezuka held his gaze. They had the same eyes – they were twins, of course they did – and now, they held the exact same emotion.

A long time ago, it was an emotion Tezuka didn't think he could ever feel.

Then, a slow smile started forming on Kunihiro's face. "Yesterday?" he asked. "I almost kissed him yesterday, if you must know."

For a brief, red-visioned moment, Tezuka thought he was going to punch his brother. His fists were already clenched and shaking at his sides, and Kunihiro was so close, and Tezuka knew for sure that his reflexes were good enough, fast enough that Kunihiro couldn't do anything until Tezuka's fist had connected with his face, and he had slammed against the post.

But he closed his eyes, and counted to ten slowly in his head. When he opened his eyes, it didn't matter, he was still angry, and he still wanted to punch his brother.

"You did _what_?" He barely managed to spit the words out. They burned his tongue, an acrid taste that Tezuka could not swallow.

Kunihiro was still smiling, and as unremorseful as possible. "I'm not sorry."

"You should be," Tezuka was having a hard time. He can't breathe, he can't control himself, and maybe, if this lasted a little longer, he might actually really punch Kunihiro. "_You should be._ Do you have _any idea_-"

"I almost kissed him," Kunihiro returned, cutting him off, folding his arms tauntingly. "That was the idea. _Kissing_."

The next few moments were a blur in Tezuka's memory, because it was one of those times when the body acted according to sheer, pure instinct, that the mind was overruled, and was too slow to follow. One moment he was here, and the next he was _there_, so close to Kunihiro that their every feature aligned, his fists shaking at his sides, itching with the need to _do something_.

Kunihiro was smiling, almost eagerly awaiting what he was sure he had baited Tezuka to do.

"You'll keep your hands off of Fuji," Tezuka enunciated slowly, clearly, lowly.

Kunihiro laid a hand against his chest and pushed. Tezuka did not budge from his position, and after a couple more tries, Kunihiro scowled up at his brother.

"Actually, _Kunimitsu_," he bit off. "I'll do whatever the hell I fucking want. You have no business telling me what and what not to do."

"I do," it wasn't true, but Tezuka wanted to say it, and he was already so much of a liar anyway. "I can. And you will listen to me, and stay away from him, starting _now_."

Tezuka was stronger, it was a strength he usually reserved for tennis, but this was important, it was _Fuji_. Right now, it was all Tezuka could think of in his head was Fuji. Fuji was important. Fuji had never been not important. Fuji had been the first person to look at him, _really_ look at him, and understood him for what he was.

_Ne, Tezuka-kun, you're lonely, aren't you?_

Fuji's eyes had been so blue, and so wise for someone so young, telling Tezuka without words that Fuji knew what he felt, in the way that no one had ever had.

Tezuka hadn't been lonely ever since.

He pushed his brother back towards their house, stepping up to block his way from the direction of Fuji's own. Kunihiro stumbled, and even though Tezuka searched for it, he couldn't find the part of himself that would have cared.

Kunihiro righted himself almost right away. His scowl had increased tenfold, and he stared Kunimitsu down, an exact replica of Kunimitsu's own angered face. Tezuka still fet nothing. He could face off with his brother here all day long. There was nothing Kunihiro could say that could make him back down.

"Why do you care so much?" his brother demanded. "He's just a _teammate _to you."

Tezuka faltered, his mouth opening. No words were coming out though, and he closed it again. That was a cheap shot, that was a very cheap shot. Kunihiro knew it. Kunihiro knew very well that things aren't always so simple, and Tezuka and Fuji-

Tezuka cut himself off.

...There was no Tezuka _and_ Fuji.

"I..." He shut his mouth again.

Kunihiro looked thunderous. "You know maybe if you weren't so half-hearted with your feelings, I would have actually considered listening to you. But now, you're standing here, thinking you have _any_ right to demand things of me when you can't even-"

Kunihiro stopped talking. He was shaking where he stood, looking positively livid. Tezuka watched his brother take a deep breath, but it did nothing to help Kunihiro regain any composure. "Like this, it's not even worth it. You're full of shit, Kunimitsu.

"And no way, _no way_, in no known universe am I _ever_ going to lose to a coward."

* * *

"Game and match, Tezuka! Six games to love!"

At the other side of the net, Momoshiro was panting. He was grinning, even though he had lost in a love game, and even though Tezuka had been the one playing against him, he couldn't rightly understand why. After all, he had only really been half-paying attention.

He shook hands with Momo, knowing in his head that he had won the game, but never getting rid of the feeling that he had lost... _something._

On Court C, all the way at the other side of the tennis grounds, he saw Fuji tilt his head questioningly to the side, asking a question with only the slightest shift of movement. His eyes were open, too, minutely, but Tezuka could see the little sliver of blue that meant that Fuji was genuinely concerned.

Tezuka looked away (_coward_), because even he had no answer.

* * *

When Tezuka finally trudged into the clubroom, all of the regulars had changed and gone. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, and the late afternoon light spilled into the clubroom like a scarlet flood.

It has been long, Tezuka realized, since he had been alone like this. Long enough that he did not quite know what to do with himself. He had his routines, and he kept them so that he had something he could fall back on when things get bad like this, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do.

"Tezuka."

Tezuka knew that voice.

Fuji was seated on the bench by the door, still in his regulars jersey and his eyes open, looking at Tezuka with an almost mournful gaze. He reached out a trembling hand towards Tezuka, but stopped midway, dropping his hand to his lap, looking rather annoyed with himself. For a few brief moments, they stayed that way, Tezuka unmoving at the doorway and Fuji resolutely gazing at the locked hands on his lap.

"Would you sit?" Fuji finally asked. His voice, too, was quiet and subdued, and his body gave no other indication that he had spoken.

"Ah." Tezuka settled himself on the other side of the bench, the end farthest from where Fuji sat. Fuji caught on to this fact quickly, and he flashed Tezuka another guilty look before his gaze returned to his lap.

"Tezuka, I-"

"Fuji-"

They stopped talking at exactly the same time, and did not make any move to start talking again.

Tezuka sighed. It used to be easier, so easy to talk to Fuji. "Go on."

From the corner of his eye, he watch Fuji bite his lip.

"I just can't help but notice how you're distracted today and I..." Fuji trailed off.

Of course Fuji noticed, Fuji noticed everything. Unlike Tezuka, Fuji wasn't terribly selfish, or self-absorbed so much that he didn't see what others were going through, so much that he was blinded to everything that he was causing others because he was so busy about what was happening to himself.

Tezuka waited, watching as Fuji let out a shaky breath. Then, his friend squared his shoulders, raising his head to meet Tezuka's eyes with his own.

"Tezuka, if you're distracted because you found out about what happened yesterday with me, and your brother, I'm sorry." Fuji let out the sentence in only one breath, almost as if he was afraid that Tezuka would explode on him and he wouldn't get to finish what he had set out to say. "I promise you that I meant absolutely no harm, and we didn't... I mean I..."

Fuji cut himself off, a frustrated sound escaping from the back of his throat. His gaze was still mournful. Tezuka recognized that gaze because a long time ago, Kunihiro was mourning tennis, Tezuka was mourning the fact that he was the one who took it away, and every morning when he looked at himself at the mirror, with his rackets and his sports clothes and the immaculate new shoes that his mother had bought him, Tezuka's reflection looked exactly like that.

Almost as if dictated solely by his force of habit, the words came rising up within him, bitter words, distant words, words that would push Fuji further away from Tezuka, that would hurt Fuji far more than Kunihiro had. Lies. Tezuka could feel them resting at the tip of his tongue, ready to be said, ready to ensure that Tezuka is nothing more but a tennis club captain, and Fuji nothing more than a starter player of the team.

_Coward_.

But with Fuji looking at him like that, with his heart on his eyes, so open and vulnerable and asking for forgiveness for something that he shouldn't even be sorry for... With Fuji's emotional scars out in the open for Tezuka to pick at, Tezuka couldn't find the strength, or the lack of it, to say them.

"Why are you asking for forgiveness?" Tezuka finally asked, as gently as he could.

Fuji looked taken aback, "Tezuka, I... _used_ your-"

"More like _he_ used _you_," Tezuka cut off. His knuckles were white from the force he was exerting, but Tezuka could hardly care. "To get to me."

Where Fuji even got the idea that he was the one using Kunihiro, Tezuka didn't know. But Fuji had always had the destructive tendency to blame himself for everything. Sometimes, when it was endearing, Tezuka even thought that if Fuji really put his mind to it, he could find a way to blame himself for world hunger or global warming, and he probably would, considering his genius.

And sometimes, it was like this. Sometimes, it killed Fuji from the inside. Sometimes, it killed Tezuka, too.

Fuji considered him silently, before he slid closer to where Tezuka sat on the bench, and laid a hand on his shaking fists. Fuji's touch was warm, and the warmth travelled all the way up his arm, putting color to his face that would be embarrassing to explain away to anyone, let alone Fuji.

But Fuji wasn't looking at his face. Instead, he was gently coaxing Tezuka's fists open, rubbing his thumb against the nail marks on Tezuka's palm.

"You're too nice, sometimes, Tezuka," Fuji commented, still intent on his hands.

For a moment, Tezuka relished Fuji's hands on his, Fuji's warm, gentle fingers, Fuji's touch. Then, he caught at Fuji's hands and moved them away. Fuji watched him do it, before raising his head, his face so close to Tezuka that Tezuka had to suck in a breath sharply.

Up close like this, Tezuka could almost identify each fine eyelash framing wide blue pools, could clearly make out the high cheekbones, the line of Fuji's jaw, Fuji's pink lips. Fuji was beautiful.

Tezuka had always known that Fuji was beautiful.

_I could do it_, Tezuka thought. Tezuka could just lean in and kiss him. It would be so easy, so simple, they were so close already anyway, and Tezuka could finally, _finally_, know what it felt like.

What a kiss felt like.

What _Fuji's_ kiss felt like.

Tezuka could do it, and he could watch as Fuji found yet another reason to hate himself.

He couldn't.

"You shouldn't have..." His voice was a mere whisper, but it shook, and Tezuka cleared his throat. "You shouldn't have to apologize for my brother's mistakes."

His breath caused stray strands of Fuji's hair to flutter, but Fuji did not move away. "What about _my_ mistakes?"

Tezuka searched his head, for that part of him that was supposed to be rational and stern, for that part that was not encouraging him to kiss Fuji, for that part of him that was going to allow him the painful work of pulling away. It took a while, and it was hard, and only heaven knew how Tezuka did it, but he finally pulled away.

Fuji exhaled sharply, like he, too, was holding his breath, not wanting anything to ruin whatever it was that had happened between the two of them.

Tezuka pretended not to notice. "You made none," he said with a tone of finality.

And yet, he couldn't find it in his heart to get up.

Fuji sighed once again. Timidly, he let his head rest against Tezuka's shoulder. The pressure was mild, as if Fuji was expecting Tezuka to push him away. But Tezuka was too tired today, to pretend to be a liar anymore.

He brought a hand up and rested it on top of Fuji's head, and after a short pause, Fuji finally leaned completely against Tezuka. Tezuka did not move, his posture still perfectly perfect, his face still impassive. But he was fully aware of everywhere that he and Fuji touched.

"As I said. You're too nice, Tezuka," Fuji mumbled.

Tezuka leaned his head back until it hit the wall behind him. "Stop, Fuji. You're not a very good liar."

Fuji laughed. It was a breathy little laugh, not like the tinkling bells that Kunihiro had been able to get out of him at all. But it was a laugh, and this time it was not Kunihiro with him.

And somehow, Tezuka, or at least the part of Tezuka that had completely lost all the love he had for his brother, counted that as a victory.

* * *

Later, when Fuji was asleep against his shoulder and after Tezuka had called Fuji's sister to ask her to pick her brother up, Tezuka let himself relax.

He let his head fall on top of Fuji's own. Fuji's hair was soft, and smooth, and he could smell the apple shampoo that Fuji favored, the light, almost melancholy fragrance of vanilla, and something else that Tezuka had long since learned to associate with Fuji.

His arm went around Fuji's body, resting against a slim waist.

Like this, if only right now, Tezuka didn't want to pretend.

He shifted until his lips touched the crown of Fuji's head. He could fell Fuji's slow, steady breathing, it tickled his neck but Tezuka didn't mind.

He closed his eyes, and forgot all his important duties and responsibilities, all the rules and all the reasons why this was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

It was almost a sigh when he said it.

"I love you."

* * *

On other news, I WON THE BET, woohoo~ My reward was wonderful, though I tried to not collect all of it, because seriously, my boyfriend bet, amongst others, that he would do something very embarrassing and he was just too precious, I told him that he didn't have to do it and thanked him for being really supportive and helping me improve as an author. But he did it anyway, the dear :') Anyway, we, both of us, thank you guys for the support! IT MADE ME SO HAPPY, I'm gonna cry :')

PS: Speaking of _karuta_, Chihayafuru is awesome! Arata reminds me so much of Tezuka (except he's more expressive BUT STILL) Imagine if Fuji was Chihaya~ And then, there's Mashima~ And Mashima-Chihaya-Arata~ Oh, the love triangle feels~ -fangirling-

If you guys have time, please do drop by and tell me what you think :)

/silverglitters


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